


To the Flame

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Adultery, Angst, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-28
Updated: 2010-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling in love with Elijah changes Astin's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Includes nonexplicit Dom/Elijah, and nonexplicit references to Astin's wife and children.   
> Written 2004, posted in ten parts as a wip on Livejournal, edited very slightly here for continuity. Inspired by rakshi, beizy, and mirabile dictu, whose words and examples taught me so much about fandom and about writing. Thank you.

_I -- Wellington, New Zealand_

Sean sprawled on Elijah's couch, legs stretched out, a beer in his left hand. After all the whiskey shots, beer seemed downright innocent. Elijah had his head in Sean's lap. Sean was the last guest at his own party, and he didn't actually count as a guest, since he was staying in the other half of the duplex. Exhausted as he was with the _Towers_ pickups, Sean's exuberance at pulling off his short-film shoot had carried him well past midnight tonight, and many of the cast and crew members had been willing to keep partying right along with him. Andy and Dom had been the last to leave.

Even drunk and tired, Sean was talkative. When it was down to just him and Elijah, they meandered from the finer points of what Sean wished he could do over with _The Long and Short of It_, to their careers, to pondering those existential life choices that seem very discussable after midnight, with old dear friends, while half in the bag.

Sean's cascade of words had paused for the moment. He absently ran his fingers through Elijah's hair. They had been talking about the aftermath of _Rudy,_ about the dead end of having too many expectations and the difficulty of detachment, of how hard it was to work in a field where so much of your success depended on others. How hard it was to keep your focus, keep defining success in your own terms when plenty of people in armchairs were ready to define it, and you, for you.

Elijah was quiet, too, his beer standing on his stomach, his hands folded around it. Sean's fingers in Elijah's hair pulled and paused, pulled and paused.

_After all that rain this morning, none of that goop left in it.... I can tell him anything._

It was a good drunk, smoothing the edges of the adrenaline and the aggressive delight that had carried Sean through a day of dreams come true, the heady wonder of directing all these people, these fine, smart, openhearted people who had been so generous with him. He had bounced from being drunk on power to consumed by humility, all day. He felt like a pinball. Now he was just drunk, happily, sweetly drunk, and Elijah's skull felt so nice under his fingers.

"I can tell you anything," Sean said, and took another swig from his beer, pressing his hand against Elijah's head.

"Mm," Elijah said, and snuggled into him, which was fine, except that a nice comforting snuggle from Elijah generally did not involve Sean's lap. Sean's dick jumped under Elijah's cheek, as if responding all on its own. _It's happy, too,_ Sean thought, and laughed at that -- so ridiculous to be thinking about his own dick. Sean put his beer on the end table and bent forward, sliding his hands under Elijah's shoulders and getting him half-raised, away from his single-minded lap. He pulled Elijah into a hug, and Elijah hugged him back, one-armed, his free hand minding his beer. Sean realized this and took the bottle away from him and set it by his own.

They hugged, Elijah sprawled over him, chest dragging against Sean's. He felt Elijah's warm breath on his neck, and it tickled, and made Sean chuckle. He felt a burst of pure delight again at how well the day had gone. God, he was tired, and it felt great to be here. He tightened his arms around his friend.

"I've missed you, missed this," Elijah said into Sean's neck.

"We see each other all the time at home."

"But New Zealand's different. You know. I've missed you. I've missed my Sam."

"I am your Sam," Sean said, buoyant and happy.

"You _can_ tell me anything," Elijah said, pulling back to look in Sean's eyes, "and I can tell you anything, and you are my Sam." His smile was huge and pure. He reached up and grabbed the bill of Sean's black Weta cap and tugged it down toward his eyes, then yanked the hat off and threw it across the room, his gaze never leaving Sean's.

And Sean smiled back, looking into those eyes he knew so well, and leaned his bare head against Elijah's cheek and snuggled him hard. It felt so easy and so right to press his lips against Elijah's cheek. Sean had missed New Zealand, too. He thought he knew exactly what Elijah meant. It was them, it was the Fellowship. It was special. And it wasn't anywhere near over yet.

Elijah's breath caught, and Sean felt the wave of warmth that rose and spread under Elijah's skin. He picked up on Sean's motion, going with it, and when Sean's lips moved away, Elijah kissed Sean's cheek, and then nuzzled against his face, inch by inch, until their lips were touching. Sean was poised, and curious. His mind was way in the background, way back there behind the whiskey and the beer, pretty worn out after being in the driver's seat all day. He was one gigantic happy snuggle, and was this so weird? So odd? It wouldn't hurt anything to let Elijah kiss him. Elijah was about to kiss him, and it was fine. It was just Elijah being Elijah.

Sean tightened his arms. He could tell Elijah was balanced on a knife-edge of awareness, tuned to Sean, to pick up the slightest hint of reluctance or resistance. They hadn't worked together all these months, creating the bond between Frodo and Sam, without learning each other's reactions at a level deeper than skin.

Sweet, and warm, and close, and it was just Elijah. Sean tilted his head, smelling beer and cloves and skin and damp wool, and Elijah kissed him.

He felt Elijah's body start to believe it, start to melt into it. God, they both had to be drunk. Elijah was breathing harder, was molding into Sean. As kisses went, it was nice, very nice, sweet and warm and tender, and Sean wanted to laugh at himself. What was he doing, letting Elijah kiss him like this? Elijah was no innocent. He'd figured out very early on that Elijah was gay, that Elijah, young as he was, must be plenty experienced. He knew about Elijah and Dom, too. And now Elijah wanted to do this? Elijah saw Sean this way? Straight-arrow Sean? Big brother Sean? Fat Samwise? _Holy shit._ He could think, still, if he concentrated, but the scary judgmental voices were so far in the background, so worn out by the day's demands, that he barely heard them. He was drunk, laughing at himself. _What the fuck, kissing Elijah,_ and he felt it then, really felt it.

Sean kissed Elijah back. His lips were thin, soft, surprisingly muscular. They'd hugged and puppypiled a million times, yet they'd never done this. The kiss paused and reformed itself. Elijah was still melting into his arms. A wave of pure lust formed and poured up Sean's torso, surprising him, and his lips responded to it before he had a chance to think it through. Sean's mouth opened a little wider, and he moved his head to taste the skin of Elijah's cheek, then moved back to Elijah's mouth and carefully touched Elijah's bottom lip with his tongue. Elijah gasped and his hands started moving on Sean's shoulders. Elijah's tongue! He was kissing Elijah way beyond friendly, and apparently his body liked it fine. His body didn't think it was nearly as weird as that background noise of his rational mind did. Sean was warm, getting warmer, getting a little dizzy as his blood moved around, sloshing the alcohol. His dick was hard. Whoa. Whatever his mind thought about this, certain parts of him approved completely.

Sean slid his mouth from Lij's and tried to catch his breath, and looked at him again. Elijah looked amazed and undeniably hot and interested. Elijah smiled. _Beautiful boy,_ Sean thought. _No, not a boy. Not any more. Beautiful man. What a beautiful man._

"We're drunk," Elijah said.

"I guess," Sean said, laughing, but he didn't let go. And Elijah didn't either.

Elijah closed his eyes, those long lashes fluttering against cheeks stained pink. His chin lifted a bit and his lips nudged Sean's chin, nudged the side of his mouth, and it had felt so good that Sean was willing to do it again. Elijah, sweet Elijah, knowing, sexy, brilliant, young Elijah, wanted to kiss him. Amazing. He kept his eyes open, marveling at Elijah's skin up close, at the wet tug of Elijah's mouth on his.

Like a jet breaking out of the clouds to soar in sunlit blue, Sean felt himself flying, loose and free, in a new bright sky of sensation. He was kissing Elijah, his friend, his Frodo, kissing Elijah and how could it feel so good, so perfect? Drunk enough that the questions were held at bay behind the sensations, Sean let his eyes close and drifted in the warm sky of the kiss.

He felt Elijah smile against his mouth, felt him put his weight in Sean's arms as his hands came up to stroke Sean's cheeks. The kissing backed off, became less intense, but continued in little bursting pushes and pulls of lips, punctuated by breathy pauses.

Elijah's fingers crept back, traced Sean's ears, moved down his neck -- goose bumps, more warmth. One hand stayed around Sean's neck, one kept moving until it was pressed against Sean's chest, palming a nipple. Elijah moved against him, wiggled closer and tucked in his hips so that Sean could feel Elijah was hard, and Sean knew that Elijah had to feel that he was, too. Elijah's head tilted back, and Elijah shot him an intent, drowsy look, and then kissed down his neck. Sean felt Elijah's hand slide across his pecs and down, right down, to press at his crotch. He gasped. Elijah's lips were against his neck, sucking gently at the junction of his shoulder muscles, and his hand was pressing quietly, rubbing just a bit, on Sean's erection through his jeans.

_Elijah! This is me, and Elijah! Shit!_ Sean gasped again, and stroked Elijah's back, trying to keep his place.

"What are we doing, here?" he said. His voice was choked. What was he doing? What did he want to do? Did this count? He was married. It was Elijah, just Elijah. His Frodo, his best friend.

"Hey, let's keep celebrating. It was a great day for you." Elijah was pushing into him with his hips, his chest. His arm was tight around Sean's shoulders. His voice was low and calm. "Let me make you feel good. I want to, and you want to. Just let me."

"I'm not gay, Elijah." Elijah's fingers were moving against the front of Sean's jeans, finding buttons.

"Then don't be. It's just us. Couldn't you tell how much I want this?"

"I -- I didn't know. I didn't realize."

"Well, now you do."

Sean gasped, because Elijah had gotten through all the Levi's buttons, and his warm fingers were worming their way into the slit in Sean's boxers. It still felt good -- it felt incredible -- but all the questions that the whiskey had held at bay were coming to the forefront, released by the shock. What would it mean? What would happen?

"What about Dom?"

"Dom won't care. He won't even know, if you don't tell him."

"Elijah, I'm married."

"Duh. It's just us, Sean. Can we not think about it? Just this once? Just tonight?"

Elijah had pulled Sean's totally willing cock from the folds of cloth and had it cupped gently in his warm hand as if it were the most friendly, happy thing in the world. It made it hard for Sean to think. Elijah leaned back and looked at him.

"Seanwise ... I'll stop if you want me to, but please. Just this once. Nothing to it. Just us. Just Frodo and Sam. Nobody has to know. Nobody."

His voice had dropped to a whisper by the time he was through, and Sean looked into his blue eyes, heard the pleading in Elijah's voice, and found he wanted to do exactly nothing except watch the slim frame slide across his knees, watch the warm red lips he had just kissed open slightly, that tongue come out and rest against the leaking head of his cock, then watch those lips close around it, watch himself disappear into Elijah's mouth.

How could Sean let go like this? How could he? He had never relinquished control of anything to this extent, never just put himself in someone's hands and... fallen. But he wasn't falling, he was flying. Flying, soaring, gliding, and Elijah was there, there to catch him.

Sensation took over. Doubt drowned in pleasure. Elijah was making urgent noises, whimpering around Sean's dick. It was Elijah, Elijah, and shit, he certainly knew what he was doing. Sean was no stranger to the blow job, but shit.... No fear. There was no fear, no guilt, only bliss. Only .... love.

Sean's head fell back. In Elijah's hands, he was in his hands.... He heard moaning, realized it was him. Elijah's mouth, engulfing him, and his fingers, sure and warm, moving, playing, teasing. His mouth left Sean's cock just long enough for him to wiggle Sean's underwear and jeans down, down and off. Then he was there again with his hot mouth, his palms parting Sean's legs, sending bright tickles in all directions. It was intense, it was strange and comfortable... _It shouldn't be this comfortable...._ A scrap of thought, washed away on the tide of desire and sensation. The wave was building; Sean felt it in his tightening balls, in his throat, in the sounds he wanted to make. Panting, he lifted his head and watched. Elijah's eyes were closed, his lashes dark smudges over his cheekbones. His face was intent, his cheeks hollow, the wet glittering in the lamplight as his head sank and pulled, sank and pulled. And his fingers....Sean, in some corner of his mind, couldn't believe what he was letting Elijah do, where he was willing to let Elijah play. Elijah had wedged a shoulder under one of Sean's thighs at some point. It was all building inexorably now, like a riptide, an avalanche. He was truly falling now, falling out of that blue, falling and falling and Elijah was right there to catch him.

With his climax, everything vanished -- the room, his thoughts, his brain, even. Gone. And when he could see and feel again, Elijah's fingers were idling against his balls, Elijah's hot mouth around him, perfectly still, and his cheek leaned against Sean's thigh. Only the huffs of his breath, and his chest, rising and falling against Sean's leg, told Sean that now they were out of synch -- that he was drifting while Elijah was intent, still taut and aroused.

Pushing his arms through the weight of his drained lethargy was hard. But he did, he leaned, he gathered Elijah's shoulders in his arms and pulled. Elijah, chest heaving, got his legs under him and moved, crawling against Sean, sitting again and nestling under his arm. Feeling awkward, Sean fumbled along -- t-shirt, hem, side of the jeans, bumpy and cool, and pressed his hand against the damp, hot swell of the front of Elijah's jeans.

"God. Thank you... What about you? What can I do for you?"

Elijah grabbed his face, fiercely kissed him again, and Sean tasted himself on Elijah's mouth, felt Elijah pressing and arching against his hand. Elijah had to break the kiss to breathe. He panted, rubbing himself against Sean's palm.

_It's me, it's me -- he wants me, I do this for him, I get him going, turn him on like this._ Sean was amazed. He swallowed hard. He looked at Elijah, that familiar face wearing an expression Sean had never seen before. Defenseless, open, arousal plain in the parted lips, the glittering, dark eyes. _Beautiful._

"Lijah, tell me. I don't -- God, that was good. So, I should, I mean I want to... Shit." Sean hauled Elijah against him, one arm around his neck, his other hand still pressing at his groin. It was too hard to talk and look into those eyes; they made Sean speechless. He pressed his lips against Elijah's neck for a moment. "What can I do for you, now? Tell me."

"God, Sean. I just want you. What do you want to do?"

Sean rocked against him, feeling him, the heat of him. "Anything, baby. I don't know, I don't know anything. But I want to make you feel good. As good as that, if I can."

Elijah sucked in a big breath. He turned his head and licked Sean's neck. "Anything?" he breathed. "Anything?"

His fingers smoothed up Sean's thigh, lingered on the softness of Sean's groin, flattened out and petted over Sean's stomach, moving under his shirt, rucking it up. Sean gasped yet again. _Skin. More skin would be good._

_It's only fair,_ he started arguing with himself. _It's only fair to take care of him, now. God, he made me come like that. Can't just leave it like that; he should have something. He should. If he wants me, he should. Yes. That's being unselfish._ Sean interfered with Elijah's exploration of his chest long enough to drag Elijah's shirt over his head, and gasped again as he pulled him close and felt skin meet skin.

Elijah stood up, bringing Sean with him, and slid his hands right down to Sean's ass and pulled them together. Sean felt a new gathering of arousal, as his groin pressed against Elijah's, and, with only the most fleeting sense of surprise, slid his hands around and grabbed Elijah's ass, helping Elijah push them together. Their mouths met again.

After a moment Elijah was backing up, turning, holding Sean's hand. They headed for the bedroom, and Sean watched the muscles move under Elijah's skin, admired his back, the way his jeans hung on his hips.

There was something inevitable about it now, somewhere his mind and his soul had found to rest without struggling. Maybe it was the idea that he owed something to Elijah, couldn't leave him hanging. Maybe it was the knowledge that it was just them, just buddies, that he knew Elijah so well. That friendship outweighed anything else that would make this wrong, sinful, or even uncomfortable. Maybe these were the grossest of rationalizations. But it felt so OK to Sean that as they reached the bedroom he let go of Elijah's hand and shrugged out of his shirt. He stood there in Elijah's bedroom, naked, and watched, simply waiting, simply stunned, as Elijah turned to him and caught him with those eyes again, and, never looking away, undid his own jeans and pushed them and his boxers down and stepped out of them. He reached for Sean's wrist and yanked, and they fell onto the bed. Sean's breath was coming fast again at the feel of all that skin against his, the strange and perfect feel of Elijah' warm, smooth cock against his leg. Sean found Elijah's mouth again. Elijah's hands were smoothing down his back. Sean shifted, his knee sliding between Elijah's, and Elijah groaned and pushed against him. God -- Elijah was wet. He was making Elijah leak, and Elijah was so hard.

_I do want him. I do. Lijah. God. It doesn't matter, it doesn't-- it's like he said, it's just us. And I guess-- he wants me._

Sean realized he was lying completely over Elijah, his own arms pinned between Elijah and the bed, Elijah's arms tight around his neck, and Sean was hard again himself, kissing Elijah as though kissing were more important than breathing.

Sean lifted his head. "What do you want, Lijah? Just tell me."

"I want you to make love to me, Sean. And I want you to fuck me. Right now."

The words sent a red flare through Sean. "Show me," he whispered.

Those were tears forming. Elijah blinked once, dislodging one, and joked, "I think you'll catch on right away." He was smiling. He pushed against Sean's shoulders, and Sean lifted up to let him move. Lijah squirmed away, turning his head and reaching, but he didn't get very far, because the way he was moving brought his cock so close to Sean's face that Sean brought a hand up and cupped the smooth, stretched skin, and kissed, then parted his lips and hesitantly tasted the shaft with his tongue.

"God," Elijah said, getting quiet. "Sean, you're going to kill me. You'll make me come right here."

Sean laughed. "Hey, your choice," he said, and waited, and Elijah squirmed away and opened a drawer in the nightstand and came up with a tube.

_Of course,_ Sean thought. _We'll need that._

Elijah turned to him and had a look on his face like it was all too good to be true, like it all might blow up on him any minute. He moved back to Sean, unfolding his body against him again. Sean took the lube from him, kissed his neck. This was really going to happen now, Sean affirmed to himself, and he thought, _I do want him. He's beautiful, he's my Lij. I do want him._

Sean leaned on his elbow, flipping open the tube, and Elijah pressed against him, still watching him with that expression of wonder.

Sean paused on a new thought. "What about, you know? Protection?"

Elijah's smile conveyed wicked delight and _I-should-have-known._ He looked as if he wanted to say something, but closed his mouth firmly and rolled away again and reached in the same drawer and came back with a condom. He slithered down, and then Sean felt Elijah's mouth, kissing his chest, finding a nipple, as his fingers did the unwrapping and unrolling. Elijah moved back up, kissing Sean's mouth again, his breath still coming fast, his eyes bright, his face flushed. He waited as Sean dealt with the lube.

"I can't believe this is happening," Elijah said, and his voice was shaky.

"Oh, it's happening," Sean said. It was all delight now, all kind of funny, against a roaring backdrop of desire. Elijah's skin -- alabaster, marble, moonlight -- what words were there? His scent, filling Sean's brain. His eyes. The rough humor of his voice. Beautiful, overwhelming, here. Sean raised his eyebrows, wordless query, and Elijah found his sticky hand and helped him touch. Sean sank his forehead into Elijah's shoulder, smelling him, feeling him, letting his mind drift. He let his hips twitch, pressing himself into Elijah's thigh, as with Elijah's help he smeared lube onto Elijah. Beautiful, to hear Elijah breathing hard and ragged like that -- it meant _I want you, I want this._

Sean moved his weight to his elbows and shifted, felt Elijah's hands on him, felt Elijah's legs come around his waist. Their eyes locked, and he carefully pressed, Elijah's hands urging him, leading him. It made Sean pant, the tight slide of it, the unfamiliar jab of Elijah's dick against his stomach, and Elijah's chin came up and his eyes closed.

"Nothing to it," Elijah said, his gasp giving lie to his words. And his arms were around Sean's shoulders. "Shit, shit, fuck, Jesus," he said, and he pushed up, taking all of Sean in, insistent. It was blinding in its intensity, consuming, overwhelming. Sean was gone again, drowned, and they moved together, moved and moaned. The room was gone, the house was gone, New Zealand gone. It was a timeless imaginary place where half-recognized dreams and visions showed themselves, came shamelessly out to play. It was Elijah -- he was lost in Elijah, buried in Elijah.

"Sam, Sam, my Sam," Elijah was calling.

No more yearning, nothing to lose, ever again. It was all here. Everything. Everything.

"God, Lijah," he choked out, feeling the tears. "Lijah. Lijah, I love you."

"Love you, Sean. Love you."

They moved together for a long time, finding their rhythm easily and quickly. _How can this feel so right,_ Sean wailed to himself. Face buried in Elijah's shoulder, sweat standing on his skin, Sean felt Elijah tense, felt exquisite tremors, felt Elijah's climax gather and gather and pause as if Elijah were holding it back. "Yeah, baby," Sean said, and thrust harder, trusting, thoughtless, and Elijah screamed his name and arched against him, spilling heat against Sean's stomach, pulling Sean into it with him, and Sean was coming again, tears on his face. He collapsed onto the muscular body beneath him, breath shaking and heaving through them both.

Sean blurted, "You knew -- all along. You knew, didn't you."

Elijah answered, "You knew, too. And if you didn't, Sam did. Now shhh. Shhh. No worries. Promise me. Shhh."

_He knows me too well,_ Sean thought ruefully, but he didn't give in to the thinking, to the worry, not yet, not now. Not while he could still feel Elijah's sweaty skin slowly cooling against his, not while he could still feel the wonder of joining with him, being inside him, the two of them, one. Finally one.

_Sam did know,_ Sean thought. _Nothing to want now. Nothing. Shhh._ And he put his head on Elijah's shoulder and felt the tears leaking again from his eyes, and felt Elijah's breath catch and knew he was crying, too.

They lay there a long time, long enough for Sean to feel his head start to hurt and know that his buzz was over and the hangover was beginning. Elijah held him fiercely tight, not letting him move, despite his weight. Finally Sean shifted and rolled aside. A chill swept over his skin. They were lying on the bedspread, hadn't even bothered to turn down the covers. Elijah, still with that open, stunned expression, kissed him and rolled off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Sean wiped up a little with the bedspread, since it was ruined anyway, and sat up and pulled it off the bed, wadding it up. He let it fall to the floor. He heard plumbing sounds, and water running, and then silence, and Elijah appeared again and leaned on the doorjamb. Sean's breath caught. He looked like a painting, like a fantasy -- his hair mussed, his cheeks pink, a half smile playing on his lips, his eyes like wells of starlight. He folded his arms, still smiling. Sean stood up and crossed the room and grabbed him, trapped him in a hug.

"You OK?" Elijah said.

"So far, so good," Sean said, and released him to go clean up and drink water, over and over, out of his hands from the tap. When he came back Elijah was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into space, his t-shirt in his hands, a frown on his forehead.

"What, baby?" Sean asked, sitting down beside him.

"You can go, I mean, if you think you should. But..."

"Can I stay? Can I sleep with you?"

With a look of relief and gratitude, Elijah threw his shirt on the floor and got under the covers, holding them open for Sean. Sean sighed and lay down beside him, holding him close again. _God, his skin, the feel of him._ Exhaustion, all the events of the day, the ebb tide of lust, the whiskey, fell on Sean all at once. He held Elijah tightly, and slept.

~~~

The alarm blared. Christ, it was a work day. It was his alarm, wasn't it, the one in the duplex in Wellington? Sean jerked awake, his heart pounding, disoriented. Skin, he felt, skin and warmth, and a colossal headache. _Christine? No... Shit._

"Oh, my head," said Elijah's voice, and the alarm cut off and Sean sat up, memory flooding him, and, now that he was sober, the full, intense weight of, first, guilt, then fear, then a stark desire to get out of there. _What have I done?_ He made himself sit still. Work day. It was a work day. It was, in fact, Monday of the second week of reshoots. He turned his head and there was Elijah, there he was, lying on his back, blankets askew, his hands over his eyes, his biceps a slight bulge, his nipples, his stomach, the sweet expanse of his skin.

Sean tried to think. He turned away from Elijah, put his legs over the side of the bed. _What have I done? Sweet Jesus._

Sean said, "The van will be here before we know it."

He stood up and caught sight of his shirt, realized his pants must still be in the living room, and felt the hot blood rush to his face. He hastily put on the shirt, buttoned it. _His mouth, his hands.... And I... I wanted him. So much. So much._

"Sean?"

Elijah was sitting up, looking at him, squinting a bit to try to focus across the room.

Sean sucked in a breath. He walked over and Elijah reached up a hand. Sean took it, made himself lean down and press a kiss to Elijah's forehead. _Nobody has to know, he said. Just us. Just him, and ... me. But who is that, now? Who am I? I thought I knew. Chris. Alex. Liz. ... Elijah ..._

"I better scoot next door, get a shower. See you in the van, OK?" One step back, two, and Elijah's hand slipped from his.

Sean fled, pursued by Furies.

~~~

Peter said, "All right, now here's the rough cut of it so far -- you've tumbled down the stairs, right? Just after Frodo confronts the Nazgul."

Sean gathered a fold of Sam's Elven cloak in his fist, new script pages clutched in his other hand, and leaned toward the monitor.

Elijah, on the other side of Peter, murmured, "In Osgiliath."

Sean watched the scene unfold -- Elijah straddling him, Sting at his throat, the tears.

" 'Don't you know your Sam?' "

Peter said, "We've got to put in the cutaway to Gollum ... here, and another in a few moments, but here's the changes, coming up now."

"So the Isengard destruction and the end of Helm's Deep will be intercut with this," Sean confirmed, businesslike, looking back and forth from his new script to the monitor. "With Sam's longer speech."

"Right. We'll probably do almost all of it as a voice over, actually."

"OK."

Sean had not been able to meet Elijah's eyes all morning. He didn't know exactly how to feel about the fact that they were starting the week with such an emotional scene: The fucking climax of the movie, for Christ's sake. Of course on one level he was deeply pleased that Sam would get to carry the end of _Towers._ But like a frozen river melting from below, a flood of unprocessed emotion from the previous night was surging beneath his surface.

Elijah, too, was hiding. One look at Sean's tense face in the van that morning, and Elijah had retreated behind his princely young moviestar persona. His smooth unbroken surface gave nothing, took nothing. Sean wondered what Elijah was really feeling, then told himself to stop wondering. Now.

Sean said to Peter, "Listen. I want to back it up a few lines, if we could, if it's not too much of a wearfest to set up for it. I can do better than what you've got there, if you're willing to let us do the `Don't you know your Sam' " bit again."

"OK, fine," Peter said, looking surprised.

"I'm not suggesting reshooting the reversals, unless you just want to, but I know I can do better than what you've got there."

"What do you think, Elijah?" Peter asked.

"Um, well, I hadn't rehearsed that part, but I'm game. Whatever Sean wants to do."

"Where do you want to start, then?"

"Just there -- at the bottom of the stairs -- `It's me, it's your Sam, don't you know your Sam?"

"Right."

Peter leaped up and went to confer with the gaffers and the set dressers, and they started moving equipment around. Sean watched them, still avoiding Elijah's eyes.

Elijah picked up the remote and searched back, freezing frames, studying them so that he could match exactly how he had been holding the sword to Sam's throat, how he had his arms and knees arranged. Sean said nothing, watching Elijah stare at the monitor and think. Elijah scrabbled in the debris atop Peter's table until he found his cigarettes, and lit one.

They sat there together, thinking, yet Sean felt them to be a million miles apart. Finally the changes to the set were ready and Caro called them.

While Costume fussed with Sting's sheath and Elijah's ring chain, Sean lay right down in the archway, even though he was still under the hands of the Makeup girl, and closed his eyes. He went to work, letting all the fear and the loose ends surface, blending Sam's grief and determination with his own unnamed, unmanageable emotions. His breaths fought themselves against his ribs. The tears started to come. He heard Elijah's footsteps approaching.

"Okay," his friend breathed, and Elijah settled himself on Sean's chest. Sean exhaled as he accepted Elijah's weight, but didn't open his eyes. With that breath, he let himself really cry. He felt Elijah take a breath and shift his weight, and felt the sword tip at his neck. When he finally opened his eyes, Elijah was gone, hidden even better than before, hidden somewhere inside Frodo.

They played the scene: Sam in tears, Frodo collapsing in despair, Sean dragging himself up, dragging Elijah to his feet.

Peter stopped them after Sean had barely gotten into the big new speech, because it was an entirely different camera angle there, but he was beaming.

"You're right, Sean. That was much better. And Elijah has something else going on, too. I want to take the time to get a few more of this and then the reversals as well before we go on. There's just a whole different color of emotion this time and I like it."

Sean nodded. He looked at Elijah. They both had tears running down their cheeks. They were ready to try it again.

~~~

Sean sagged into the headrest, waiting for his namesake to finish removing his hobbit feet. Billy and Dom were arguing about the consistency and ingredients of Orc medicine and what it could be used for: Choking Brego or anesthetizing toddlers were on top of the list at the moment. Elijah was silent, and even though Sean had his eyes shut, he knew right where Elijah was. He could pick out his huff of breath as raw skin got yanked again by the glue, could hear the tiny shushing sound his trousers made against the chair. Sean couldn't remember when he had acquired this supernatural awareness of Elijah, but he had it and he couldn't shake it. _Would that technically be a kind of clairvoyance or a kind of telepathy?_ he thought, and then, _I am so fucked..._

..."'I can't do this, Sam.'"...

Frodo's words in take after take today reverberated in Sean's mind. Before, in the footage from the principal shoot that they were now methodically replacing, Sam and Frodo had been sad, worried, tearful. Today, each at the proper moment, they had achieved despair. Sean knew what that said about his state of mind. He tried not to wonder what it said about Elijah's.

Late that night, Sean woke, shocked into consciousness by lips on his cock, warm lips and the murmuring tenor voice behind them, and he groaned at finding himself alone and tangled in the sheets and damp right through the front of his boxers and the grey baggy sweatpants, too. He sat up, shivering. The dream blew away, shredding like clouds in a high wind. He was left with a vague memory of low laughter and soft lips and a curve of moonlit skin. Maybe it wasn't just the moonlight. Maybe that was the way Elijah's naked shoulder and side would glow anyway, moonlight or sunlight. He had skin that took light and shaped it. The makeup people loved it. Right at first, when rehearsals and fittings were the order of the day, they had experimented with Elijah until he started teasing them and trying to escape, because they kept him well after they had what they needed. They played with his skin under the light from the big window at Stone Street, and under artificial light and with all the filters they could find. It wasn't ever just Sean who noticed how beautiful Elijah was, and how the camera loved his face. But it was Sean who had now gotten to notice a lot more than that, and here, alone, gripped by an unequivocal dream, he made himself look at what he had been avoiding.

Sam's grief had been the best he had felt all day, because he had felt, however tenuously, in control of it. He had been able to do something constructive with all that emotion; he had been able to work. But since about three in the afternoon, when they had moved to another part of the shot, he had been feeling worse and worse. He had avoided Elijah at lunch -- far from his usual habit -- and Elijah had taken the hint and not even attempted to invite him to their usual spot. Instead he had searched out David Wenham and talked to him and Andy about some finer point of the Osgiliath sewer scenes. Elijah was humoring him, god damn him. Humoring him and taking care of him.

"I am so fucked," Sean said out loud. That phrase; there was a definite pattern developing here. He made himself lie down again but he still had his hands in his hair. And then, shaking, biting his lip, he went ahead. He twisted the knife. He let it replay: Not the dream, but what had really happened precisely twenty-four hours ago. The all-too-real memory of Elijah shaking under him, both of them in tears, declaring love over and over, breaking through. But to what?

"Put the lid back on," he said out loud, wondering if he was going crazy right then. It had happened. He couldn't deny it. He had made love to Elijah, he had touched him and claimed him and made it real. Fearsomely real, and fearsomely important. But he had to put the lid back on. He couldn't have the luxury of meditating on what he had done or letting it sink any further into his consciousness. Oh, his body would replay it, if he gave in. His greedy, traitorous body knew all about it. His body wanted Elijah the way it wanted sleep and food and water.

_This will ruin everything,_ he thought, breathing hard. It would destroy first his family, then his sanity. He turned from the thought at once, curling around a pillow.

"Put the lid back on," he whispered, and closed his eyes and told himself to sleep.

~~~

_Are you gay? You are gay. Who are you. Men don't fuck other men like that unless they're gay. How do you know if you're gay? Can you be gay for just one person. It's a continuum. It's bisexuality; it's a legitimate category. People choose to stay with one sex or the other even if they have this potential. They do it all the time; they simply choose. They're happy. Until they crack. You had him, and it's a fault line, and it's breaking. It's all breaking._

Sean's eyes flew open and he made a real and conscious effort to feel the wall against his palms, against his forehead. He tried to breathe. He was here, at five -- he rotated his head toward the clock -- forty-three in the morning, the hobbit feet were slowly going on, it was a normal day. Ordinary. Back in Wellington, where he had spent over a year of his life already. He did not choose to be having these thoughts. They were attacking him. But he could let them float by and not stick. They could float by like leaves on a river, like clouds in the sky. The sky, blue -- They could float right by if he did not hang on to them. He studied his breathing and watched the tiny lines in the paneling of the trailer.

~~~

Days went by. It was much longer than the pickups for the first movie. He would have enjoyed it so much if he hadn't had to spend so much time trying not to think. It took a lot of his energy. He had to work with Elijah. He could not ignore him at work. He couldn't not-think and work, either, but at least he was Sam at work -- Sam; worrying and wondering and trying to hold it together for Mr. Frodo. So that was OK. That was doable because of how neatly it fit with his subtext, his undertow. Sam had to cope. He had a quest to manage, a Gollum to watch. The days went by, with Sean wedged among rocks in a studio, doing parts of the opening scenes of _Towers,_ talking about lembas and salt and real Elvish rope.

But other than when they were in costume, Sean was avoiding Elijah to the point that he knew it was making Dom and Billy uncomfortable. They were worried that something had happened, that Sean and Elijah had argued or even fallen out. Sean could not bring himself to say anything or do anything about it. He could not talk to them and he certainly could not talk much to Elijah. He was resolutely cheerful to all of them and willed them to not say a word, to just. Not. Ask. He felt very, very brittle.

Once, just once, in the trailer at the end of a day, Dom invited him to go out with all of them, and Dom would not drop it. First Dom specifically invited him when before they would have just generally discussed the times and places and plans and known it was a blanket invitation for whomever. Dom was worried and he was really being nice. But Sean smiled and begged off and pretended to be fighting a stomach virus, or perhaps, he speculated, it was food poisoning. He could feel Elijah, through the back of his head, sitting there as the glue came off, listening. Sean and Dom and Billy ponderously, thoroughly catalogued where they had all eaten, together and separately, the last few days, so that they could try to isolate what had poisoned Sean, if indeed he had food poisoning. That filled a shocking lot of time. His face was starting to hurt from the fake cheerfulness, the brave resistance to this phantom stomach virus.

They were done with his ears and his feet and he could go, shutting himself into his apartment, silencing the phones, willing no one to call, staring at the white ceiling.

~~~

Another night. He was reading, all the lights on in the living room of the flat to drive back the dark where the dreams lived, reading and not wanting to notice how often he had to go back and back over the same paragraphs. He was sticking to this story, sticking to the words on the page. In an hour or so he would go to bed. Nice, easy words that flowed and made sense and told a gripping story. It was gripping. It was.

The phone rang. He knew the machine would pick up after five rings and then it occurred to him that it might be Chris, though it was a weird time for her to be calling. So he answered it.

"How you doing?" Elijah's voice was cheerful and kind and bright. Sean wondered if he were next door or somewhere else in the city. Maybe even at Dom's.

"Fine," Sean said crisply, "I'm fine. What's up?" He was an actor, too, dammit. His fingers were cold. He was suddenly shaking.

"Listen, I just wanted to call because, well, I wanted to call and not, like, make you have to talk to me but I wanted to tell you it's OK." Sean's throat closed as he listened to Elijah's oh-so-cheerful voice. _It's good, it's all good, it's OK,_ the voice was saying. It didn't matter what the words were. It didn't matter that the tone was as obvious a lie as the words, but Elijah was resolute. He was very, very good at resolute and at keeping things nice and keeping everyone happy. When, exactly, had he been forced to put Sean in the category of someone who needed to be appeased, pampered, smoothed over? Sean knew. Sean hated this knowledge.

Elijah went on, "I'm not expecting you to do anything, or say anything, I'm OK, and I hope you're OK, too. I, uh, I just wanted to make sure you knew that."

Sean wanted to say something but words would not come out.

"Sean?"

"Yeah."

"OK?"

"OK. Yeah."

"Uh, that was all, then. See you tomorrow."

Sean hung up, knowing he had missed something, forgotten to say something. He stood there by the phone in the hall until he realized his feet hurt and he walked back into the living room and sat down on the sofa. There was his book. Yes. He had been reading.

~~~

Dom finally convinced Sean to come out with them, one time, toward the end of the pickups. Because most of them were really starting to feel like celebrating the movie. Coming into this reunion, the animation of Gollum had been in great shape, Helm's Deep was pretty much a lock, but the rest of the movie had felt awfully limping and fragmentary. The pickup scenes redistributed its weight. They could all tell. PJ and Fran had created significant chunks of the character arcs even since _Fellowship_ had been released. The last five weeks had been efficient and relentless and they were going to have a quite wonderful movie, they all agreed, now that they had these scenes in hand. The directors had worked Andy in particular really hard, and also David and Sean. The movie had a very different shape than it had had just after principal shooting.

Five weeks; efficient and intense. Sean looked into his second beer and judged that he was not coping well with the intensity. He knew he was having the worst mood swings he had experienced since his teens. Elation at his short film and his prominent place as the narrator of the climax of the movie. Despair at being away from Chris and Ally and Lizzy, his anchors, his real life. Waves of confusion and guilt at what he had let himself do with Elijah.

So far tonight he had made himself stop looking, twice, at Elijah dancing with Dom and Orli and Bill. He had made himself chat up Andy twice and Viggo once and he had stuck close to David. He had danced with two wide-eyed girls who sidled up and asked him, just to prove he still could and still would. Then he asked Sharon from Makeup to dance, all on his own. And she said yes.

He had told himself he would stay until midnight, which was fast approaching. Then he could go gracefully. He visited the men's room and when he pulled the door open on his way back out, there was Elijah. The hall was dark and L-shaped, muting the music enough that a conversation was possible, tucked back in here in the corner between the restroom doors, and Elijah seemed determined to have one.

"Oh, good; I caught you," he said, and expressions, quicksilver, poured across his face as he realized the double meaning of what he had said. Alcohol-induced bravery and his normal, open-handed affection were where his lips and his glance finally settled. Only the skin around his eyes showed strain. Sean clenched his fists at his sides.

"Sean, I don't think you're OK."

Elijah put his hand on Sean's lapel, which Sean somehow knew he would not have done had he been sober. The gesture arrived in slow motion, and Sean was able to hear his own thoughts, hear the carefully devastating crash of his denial. At the press of warmth on his chest, he closed his eyes and felt lips, heard moans. He looked up at the ceiling. He was moving, so slowly, so slowly, how could he not get away any faster. He pushed Elijah's hand away, gently he hoped, and walked past him, shaking his head. He went out the front door of the club, probably ignoring calls or greetings or farewells, but he did not hear them. There was a taxi. Thank God. He remembered his address.

His hands were shaking as he pulled out cash to pay the driver, and he couldn't speak. Articulating the numbers and the street name had taken all the coherence he had left. He gave the man a sketchy salute in farewell and shivered up his walk and somehow got the key into the lock. He couldn't walk all the way to the bedroom. He huddled on the couch until morning.

~~~

They flew home together. It only made sense. They were the only two going back to LA, and they had arrived together and they left together. It was first class, of course, and they offered each other the window seat so many times that the flight attendant actually took a deep breath and was about to say something when Elijah gave in and took it.

Sean was not sure how he could do it: Hours and hours next to Elijah in that small space. Elijah, his face a careful mask, looked at him long enough to see the barely concealed panic and took pity on him yet again. He leaned over and pulled his cd player and his headphones out of his messenger bag and closed his eyes and vanished into some music. _Like a little kid. See, I close my eyes and you can't see me,_ Sean thought, watching him, riveted, once Elijah's eyes were closed. After a while Sean put his head back on the seat and pretended to fall asleep. He was quite tired, so pretty soon, he wasn't pretending.

When he woke it was mostly dark. The tiny soft glow of a light that someone had turned on or left on overhead showed him Elijah, asleep. Sean watched him. Elijah's face was open and relaxed, his lips a little dry. The frown that had taken up residence days ago was gone. His eyelids were smooth as shells; his lashes long and dark. Sean could see each individual lash, as if painted with a brush, on his cheeks. His hair was really short now; shorter than Sean liked it. _Why do I even have a preference about his hair?_

Sean watched him until Elijah stirred and swallowed and turned his head away. When Sean closed his eyes and tried to sleep again, it took a long time to push back the burning feeling in his throat and choke the tears that wanted to leak up and out and then down across his cheeks.

When Sean woke up again, Elijah was watching him. The little frown was back. He looked tired and restless and his lips were grey-pink instead of a gentle lipstick color.

"You missed the hot towels," Elijah said.

"Just my luck," Sean said.

"I would have saved you one, but, it would have gotten cold."

"I know." Sean smiled in spite of himself. Sometimes Elijah could state the obvious with the impact of revelation.

Elijah moved his hand the four inches that separated it from Sean's and said, all in a rush as if he was afraid Sean wouldn't let him speak, "If I had known it would ruin our friendship I never would have done it."

Sean inhaled sharply.

His voice was barely above a whisper. "I mean, it was great and everything; I mean, you were there. Shit... But it's not worth this."

Sean stared at him.

"Please," Elijah said. "It's not a good trade, you know? I want us to get over it. It never happened, all right?"

Sean found he was able to nod.

Later, on the final approach to LAX, the plane settling down and down through the bright layers of air and cloud, Elijah turned to him and hugged him as best he could in the narrow seat, pinned in by the armrests. Sean put up one arm and hugged him back and found he wanted to cry again. This time he decided it was all right to get a little choked up. He knew his family and Elijah's would be waiting for them at the gate and he appreciated Elijah for doing this now and not on the ground, if he wanted to do it at all. And their families and staff would swarm them and they would get jostled outside and jumbled into cars and swept apart. So it was nice to do the hug now. It wasn't like a goodbye, though, not like the partings they had just been through with the New Zealanders and the cast. They would see each other right away. Probably within a day or two, in fact, because ever since the principal shoot, they had been best friends. As close as brothers. So they weren't saying goodbye to each other, or to anything at all, Sean insisted to himself, trying to push the lump in his throat a little further down. Of course they weren't.

~~~

_II -- Los Angeles_

_"It never happened, all right?"_

Elijah could ask that, a clear soft voice in Sean's memory, backed by the whine of the engines of an Air New Zealand jet.

It never happened. And so, Sean could erase other questions, asked by his own internal voices. Questions about where the husband and father he thought he was had gone. It had never happened, whatever momentous thing it was, and so those questions could disappear. And that also made it possible for Sean to ignore the blankness in Elijah's eyes and the pain in Dom's. At home in LA again, when he and Elijah got together, Dom was often with them. When Sean called Elijah, Dom was often in the background. But because _it never happened,_ Sean could ignore the jealousy he felt, in all its irrationality. After all, Elijah had been with Dom all along. And Sean knew why Dom had moved to LA. It was only partly because of the opportunities for work. Sean could ignore all that and take refuge in acceptance, in friendship, in everything the way it had always been.

_"It never happened."_

Those words, whatever their cost to Elijah, had given Sean something essential: The script for his life. Elijah, in his mercy, had laid out a plot that Sean could follow. Because he knew how to be Elijah's friend. That was easy. They could talk on the phone, get together for drinks, for family outings, for racquetball or a day at the beach. They could make plans to travel to fan conventions and book signings and concerts. And they did. They ate sushi with Dom and Billy, gave interviews, attended movie openings and parties. They met Orli for beers and talked to Viggo on speakerphones and went to galleries and to strategy meetings at New Line. Employee, husband, interviewee, son, father, brother, gracious keeper of the character of Samwise: Hit your mark. Work. Just do it. It was kind of a treadmill, like the real one he was using so faithfully to lose the Sam weight. It was easier the less you thought.

Sean put his focus on enjoying the plot Elijah had written for him, which was the part that did happen, and often, he found he truly was enjoying things. The months after _Fellowship's_ Oscars and before _Towers'_ opening were as good as his career had ever gotten. As good as the aftermath of _Rudy._ Better, even, because he still had Chris and now he had the guys, too. He dared to hope that after _The Two Towers_ was released the outward life would get even better yet. And he knew, secretly, that his very best work would happen in _King._ They all held the third movie carefully in mind, trying not to look too far ahead, needing to not steal _Towers'_ thunder. _Return of the King_ was still their secret. All the actors were high and happy, buoyant and busy. Sean felt sometimes that they had succeeded in transplanting their real fellowship to Los Angeles.

Sean's family life was fine, too. Because _"It never happened."_ Elijah's benediction ringing in his ears, he had embraced Chris at the airport after the _Towers_ reshoots with a relief so enormous that it left him shaking. _All right?_

Elijah, he thought later, might have been acting when he had greeted everyone at the roped-off gate, then told Sean goodbye and gone off with his Mom and Dom without a backward glance. And Chris piled them into the car with the assistants and the kids and the luggage, and they hugged and Sean got tears in his eyes. He told Chris how glad he was to see her, how much he had missed her, and it was all true. They talked about _The Long and Short of It,_ and about the new scenes for Sam the Heroic. They got home and celebrated. Bed was even fine, too. Sean was relieved and happy. He had a distinct sense of being rescued. Even with the time difference, he slept, holding Chris tight, pillowed by her hair, breathing her scent. It felt homey and safe and wonderful. _Never happened._

That endless California summer, Sean found himself watching Elijah. Studying him. It worried Sean that Elijah was losing weight. He got really skinny that winter, losing pounds that he really didn't have to lose.

Photos Sean saw later, of the two of them at public appearances leading up to the opening for _Towers,_ always caught him looking intently at his co-star. Elijah never evaded his eyes, never looked away, never seemed distant or nervous. He let Sean get as close as Sean wanted to get. Though Sean did not want to get very close. Elijah's calm seemed unshakeable. Because, apparently, Elijah really believed that it had never happened. And Sean believed it, too.

One night they met at a gallery opening for Viggo. Elijah had just gotten back from a long shoot and the event was the first time he had seen Sean since before he had left -- nearly two months they had gone without seeing each other, with only emails and the occasional phone conversation keeping them in touch.

Sean arrived at the gallery well after Elijah, and he went to the bar and got some wine and was chatting with Viggo's agent when he heard Elijah call his name. He turned to see Elijah hurtling toward him, and Elijah unselfconsciously just climbed up his body, wrapped his legs around Sean's waist, leaned hard on his shoulders and kissed him on the forehead six or seven times. Dom was behind him, laughing like an idiot, and they fell together into a hug, all three of them, when Elijah climbed down. He smelled of cloves and wine and Sean was sure he'd had a few, or he probably would not have done something like that. Sean had had the presence of mind to grab Elijah's hip, hitch him up and against Sean's torso like he'd been one of Sean's kids. Sean didn't spill his own wineglass, even as astonished as he was. Good reflexes. Sean didn't think about other times he had caught Elijah like that, back in New Zealand. Better to keep his mind on safe things that belonged to his present existence. Like the fact that all the guys would accept friendly hugs and smooches. This was not different. It was not.

Viggo read and they all caught up, and Sean had drunk quite a bit more than he intended to. He had looked at Dom and felt only friendship and brotherly love. But in bed that night, listening to Chris breathe, he found that when he closed his eyes, his mind wanted to replay it: Elijah pressed up against him, the cushion of his cock against Sean's abs. The heady, strong feeling of being able to use one arm to hold Elijah up like that. It was making Sean feel really fine to be thinner and in shape again. It made him dress better and want to catch glimpses of himself in store windows. But his own satisfaction in his physical self made him aware, when he hugged Elijah, like a friend or a brother would, of Elijah's body under his clothes, of the hard edges of Elijah's hipbones and the sharp points of his elbows. Sean felt, in that replay, how differently they fit together now compared to when he was Sam. His eyes came open and he lay there next to Chris and tried to get the script back; to regain his composure.

He tried to slow his breathing, ignore that he was half hard, and he remembered reading about something Michelangelo was reputed to have said -- that the sculpture was already there, under the surface of the marble, and his job was simply to release it. Sean was emerging again from under Samwise's weight, but he felt that he was not the same Sean who had undertaken the quest of becoming Sam. Sean was indeed emerging from the solid block of Samwise, but this new Sean was not quite familiar. This new Sean was someone who wanted to use his hard, gym-rat arms to hold up Elijah. He was someone who wanted to compare the press and swell of his own muscles and skin not with the familiar, opposite-sex delight of Chris, but with someone else; someone firm and flat and thin. This glimpse of what was emerging was not welcome. This was not what Sean wanted to happen.

He sighed and clenched his fists. He should want what he had always wanted! He should be happy that things were improving, that his wishes for success and money were being granted. Because things were good. Chris was good. The family was good. Things were coming along. He had a whole camp of new friends and new offers and new things to look forward to. The lights were bright in his life. But there was that dark corner, that new voice, that screamed of a change even more fundamental than the impact of _Rings_ on his agent's voicemail and his own bank statements. Sam had come and gone. And Sean was not the same.

_"It never happened, all right?"_

The weeks went by in his busy life, full of children and friends and money and domestic bliss, and the _happened_ part silently, invisibly began to gnaw on him. It had jumped on him when Elijah grabbed him at Viggo's opening. _It had happened._ He had gone to bed with Elijah. Had gay sex with Elijah. Fucked Elijah. He could act _"It never happened,"_ but he was starting to have to look at the fact that it was an act.

He pushed away the changes he felt, pushed them away like he could push the barbells. Like he could push away unwanted thoughts and feelings and just focus on whatever project needed him that day. _Here and now, Sean,_ he told himself. _Here and now. It never happened._ Well, maybe he was aware, a little, of an IT. When Elijah hugged him like he had at Viggo's event, he couldn't NOT be aware. His body knew. And his body, at his own invitation, through his own hard work, was more awake and alive and demanding that it had been in two or three years. His skin and muscle knew. Something had happened. Something was different. But it didn't have to change anything, Sean's brain insisted. If it really had happened, if IT existed, couldn't it could be one aberration? An artifact of New Zealand, of Frodo and Sam? One dreamlike, drunken event. It could be a secret, a mistake, with its own secret penance and its own penalties. Less contact with Elijah would be an appropriate penance. Fewer phone calls. More time on the treadmill. More meetings, more time with the family.

Then came a night when Elijah appeared at his front door, and he learned that _"It never happened"_ had escaped not only from his own locked-down memory bank, but had squirmed and writhed and sent out dark tentacles that had somehow strangled Dom, too.

The cell phone seemed so heavy in Sean's hand. The screen light took a few seconds to fade after Sean pushed the button to end the call.

"Elijah's coming over, Chris. I'm sorry it's so late. But I guess he's had some kind of falling out with Dom."

"I can finish reading to Ally and you can talk in the sunroom -- it's the cleanest."

"Oh, now, he won't care about that. He knows how the kids trash the place. And you've seen the mess at his house."

"Is he all right?"

"I can't tell. I think so."

The doorbell, and the door opening, and Elijah was clutching him. Holding back tears. Sean held on tight. They stood there in the open door.

"I can't hurt people like this any more, Sean. I'm not fucking doing it any more."

"Baby."

Elijah was breathing hard, refusing to cry.

"Come on."

Sean pulled him by the hand through the living room to the sunroom. His hand was warm. Sean linked their fingers, happy to touch skin. He made Elijah sit, found another striped pillow to put between him and the hard rattan back of the couch. He opened the door to the patio.

"Go ahead and smoke. I don't care."

Elijah looked at him.

"I know. I'm nuts. Just go ahead if you want to." Sean was standing in the middle of the room. He knew Christine would leave them alone. Sean's hands were tingling, his groin was tingling, with the thwarted desire to touch. To smear himself against Elijah's chest and shoulders and neck.

"I left them in the car."

Sean stood there, seeing only Elijah's eyes. The room was dark, light seeping in from the living room and the distant yard lights. There was no moon. Sean looked into the cobalt wells that were Elijah's eyes, noticed the dark circles under them, how pale he was. Elijah stared back. Sean had no idea how long he stood there, looking into Elijah's eyes, but eventually Sean blinked and started.

"I'll get us a drink."

Fiddling with wine glasses, locating a corkscrew, coming and going from the second pantry, he heard the door twice. When he got back to the sunroom, Elijah was back on the rattan couch, smoking. He leaned to tap his ashes into one of the potted trees.

Sean said, "This is the good stuff. The Australian shiraz Karl was always bragging about."

Elijah took a slow drink of the wine, but didn't comment on it.

"Tell me?"

Elijah looked down into his glass as he spoke. "Dom let me have it with both barrels tonight. He said he had thought at first that he could handle it, but that it was ... hurting too much now."

"Lij."

"Hurting too much that it was love for him and would never be for me."

"God."

Elijah raised his eyes and looked at Sean. "He pointed out in some detail just exactly how unfair it was of me to be seeing him or anyone, when I was so clearly in love with someone else."

Sean got up and walked to the open patio door, looked out at the pool. Walked back and stood in front of Elijah.

"Where was this?"

"Outside, at his and Mac's. We had dinner and were trying to figure out where to go next but he just wanted to go home."

"Elijah, I'm so sorry. I thought it was going all right. You both seemed to be having a lot of fun."

"He's right. It was unfair and stupid and selfish and I hurt him and I should not have."

Sean bent and reached for him and Elijah put his hand up.

"Don't make me cry, Sean. Don't."

Sean paced away and back again, found he had drunk all his wine, and poured more. Elijah's glass was untouched after that one sip, but he had lit another cigarette.

Sean said, "You didn't mean to do this. You didn't start out intending to hurt him."

"But I did hurt him. I didn't mean to and I did anyway." Elijah got up suddenly. "Fuck, why I am coming over here to tell you this? You can't help me. You can't make me feel better."

"I can try."

"Sean. You can...." Elijah ran out of words, made a dismissive gesture, put his hand on top of his head.

It was an intense effort of will for Sean to just stand there. He could practically feel the corduroy fabric of Elijah's jacket on his palms. He waited.

Elijah said, "I am so fucked."

"Elijah --"

"Is there anything you can say, really?" He picked up his cigarettes and his glass and drank down half the expensive wine in one swallow. He set the glass down.

Sean followed him through the living room and the entry. He wanted to say, _This isn't easy for me either,_ or maybe it was, _Please don't go._ Something held the words behind his teeth.

Sean stood there on the front walk and Elijah turned back to look at him, as if to memorize his features.

"I'm sorry, Elijah."

Elijah just stood there, looking back, his face a careful blank.

Sean said, "Call me?"

"Sure."

Sean stood there until the car's taillights disappeared.

At least once a day for the next few days, Sean found himself standing in the sunroom, breathing, until the out-of-place smell of clove cigarettes faded from the air and from the upholstery.

~~~

The cloves were finally fading. Feeling himself an idiot, Sean walked over to the sofa and bent down to the cushions where Elijah had sat, and inhaled again. Gone. He let himself collapse to his knees on the floor and rubbed his gritty eyes. He breathed carefully, trying to dislodge the knot in his chest without letting it travel up and make his eyes damp. He could still smell cloves, and hair gel, and despair, but it was his memory playing tricks on him. His memory was good that way. It had a lot of things, mostly related to smell and taste (like Proust had noticed, the impassive, arrogant part of his mind observed, head cocked to one side like an art critic) that could trick up, trip him up. He remembered how the cloves could linger, sinking into your clothes and your skin in a way that regular cigarette smoke did not. Of course Elijah had moved in a cloud of cloves, more or less intense as the shooting was harder or easier, and Sean, if he let his logical mind think back, could probably put a date, within a week or two, of the time he noticed that Dom was infused with that same smell. He pushed his thumbs against the inner corners of his eyes, firm against the bridge of his nose. The pressure made a bright, vaguely circular blur against the darkness of the inside of his eyelids, but the almost-pain and the bright blur was not enough to cancel the memory of sunlight; a sharp-edged New Zealand winter dawn, and the musty smell of the brick wall of Elijah's apartment building and how the worn bricks were somehow sharp against Sean's cheek as he turned his head so that he did not have to look into Dom's eyes.

There was no rewind button on this memory. He had to let it play. He had raised his hand to knock up Elijah, the van's engine thrumming in the driveway behind him, the exhaust a big grey cloud on the cold air. He had a key, but in the mornings, arriving to pick up Elijah for delivery to Feet, it seemed he should knock. Before he could connect his knuckles with the wooden panel of the door, it swung inward, making him jump. His pulse spiked -- that adrenaline induced, caffeine augmented, too-little-sleep-crazy jolt. Dom barreled out the door with his customary haste, nearly colliding with Sean as the door swung to behind him.

"The redoubtable Mr. Astin; good morning," Dom said, frowning, moving past him.

Sean grabbed his elbow, hissing: "You spent the night."

"And it's your business, Seanwise?"

Dom had pushed at Sean's hand, his demeanor a mix of smugness and languor that said Just Fucked in bold letters to Sean. Sean leaned in, his face near Dom's, thinking to speak softly in case Elijah was just behind, or perhaps in case of the van driver. He sucked in a breath, trying to form a sentence, and the breath brought in more than he bargained for -- warmth, sweetness of ale through skin, a bouquet of fresh sex, and the cloves. It made him sway and washed away his words.

Dom had looked at him, eyes narrowing and covered Sean's hand on his arm with his own, dragging him around the corner of the house.

"Dom. He's got an early call. You shouldn't..."

"Keep him up? Sleep over? Hello?" Impatience and pity warred in Dom's tone.

Sean closed his eyes, leaned back against the bricks. "You can't--"

"Can't what?" The voice was softer and Sean opened his eyes in sheer puzzlement. The corner of Dom's mouth was pulled into a softly sardonic smile, but his eyes were hard. Dom raised his hand, using the back of it to stroke Sean's cheek and the whiff of Elijah was dizzying. Sean sucked in his breath, leaned into that hand without wanting to, his eyes still closed.

"You got that? You had enough yet?"

"Dom." Sean pulled Dom's hand down, both their arms stiff, Sean pushing, Dom resisting, just a little. Sean looked into those eyes, _grey like the sea not blue like the sky._

"You can't stay so close to this, man. You're torturing yourself. Give it a rest."

Sean slowly, fighting himself all the way, pulled Dom's hand to his face, laid it against his cheek so that he could catch all those smells again, and closed his eyes. He turned Dom's palm outward just far enough to place a kiss in it.

Dom let him do it, but said, "Seriously. You've got to do something about this obsession of yours, mate." His voice was choked, the anger that had edged it gone.

"I like your solution," Sean had breathed, his eyes still closed, knowing how bat shit crazy he was acting in that moment. They stood there, Dom probably waiting for enlightenment, Sean thought; Sean waiting for his superego to return and slug him a good one. Sean sighed and opened his eyes and released Dom's hand. He had turned and without looking back, got in the van to wait. Dom had stood there a minute, and Sean had watched him open the door again, shout something, and then jog over to the van. His breath made a whitish cloud in the bright, cold air. He climbed in beside Sean, and they both waited for Elijah.

After that Dom had been really nice to Sean, backing way off from the boisterous teasing that had set Sean's teeth on edge more than once. At times Dom was downright kind to him, which made Billy tease Dom that he was losing his edge.

Sean had mostly wondered what was happening to him. He loved being Sam for Elijah's Frodo. He had embraced that role deeply, made life imitate art. Surely Sam couldn't be upset if Frodo and Merry found each other. What business was it of Sam's? What business was it of his?

Sean had tried to back off, but when they all went out, he watched Dom and Elijah with a fascination he could not explain. They were very discreet, more discreet than Sean ever would have guessed they could be, and the affectionate hobbit-and-elf-and-man traveling circus gave them plenty of cover. But he noticed the stolen kisses in dark evenings outside restaurants, and the touching, and the intimate laughter and the coded language.

It had felt, in hindsight, like a solid year of picking at a scab, never letting it heal up underneath. It made Sean feel like his sanity was unraveling at the edges.

He tried to let it help Sam; fuel Sam's desperation, but he was afraid that he only achieved a colossal and pathetic crankiness. It made no fucking sense for Sean to be jealous of Dom. What could that be about? No sense. Like a blister that eventually becomes a callus, the bright jealousy faded, over the months of the shoot, to a dull ache that Sean lived with.

He never talked about it again. Not to Dom, not to Elijah. But Sean knew Elijah had just watched everything change and swirl among the four of them, and Sean wondered what he knew, what he guessed, and most of all, what he wanted.

In hindsight, it explained a lot.

And now, back at home in LA, Sean was afraid. He was afraid of this new knowledge, that Lij was alone again, that it was over with Dom. He was still afraid of their secret somehow being told. He was sorry for Dom. And he was afraid of himself, of what might happen, of what he might lose or risk. But, he told himself, fear was nothing new. Fear drove so many things he did. He was used to it. Fear of uncertainty had driven Sean to seek security all his life, and he knew that. It was no particular revelation; it was his well-understood motivation since he had gotten old enough to figure out how his upbringing had molded him. Living in some degree of fear was familiar. This whole desperate squashing of his feelings for Elijah was just the newest layer in Sean's anxiety. But he found he also had a strange and twisted feeling of victory, of satisfaction, that he had had such a big impact on Elijah, and now on Dom, too.

_Stop it,_ he told himself. _That's wrong. It's mean. It's not you._

He let himself linger in the sunroom, let himself sit down on the rattan sofa in the empty house, feeling as if the shards of his identity were cutting his hands. Elijah had been in such pain that night when they sat on this couch and drank red wine and talked about how Elijah was not in love with Dom but with someone else. Someone Elijah did not name. Sean had seen Elijah's pain, and Sean was the cause.

He closed his eyes. He was hurting someone. He would, he could see now, go on hurting someone, or several someones. It had turned into a zero sum game. He was hurting people he loved -- he, Sean, who prided himself on his ability to cope, to fix, to manage. And he was hurting someone not at the periphery of his life, but at the center: Elijah, his Frodo. His best friend.

_I can tell you anything,_ he had said to Elijah, on that night when _it never happened,_ and Elijah, sparkling, happy, had agreed.

That happiness, that blithe spirit, was so dead now. He remembered the blankness he was always seeing in Elijah's eyes, and he thought about Elijah's weight loss. Sean felt cold, sick. He had done this. He had hurt someone he loved. He sank back on the couch. But what could he do about it? Rage welled up and he stood, pacing the empty sunroom. This was so unfair. He hadn't asked for this. He hadn't asked for this young, beautiful person to blow into his carefully constructed life like a Pacific storm, and wreck it. He hadn't asked his heart, his dick, to betray him like this.

He went to the window. Pacing was not enough. He made a fist, looked at it, admired how the tendons and tightly wrapped muscles of his forearm spiraled smoothly toward his elbow. He could punch out the window, he could punch a hole in the Sheetrock. But what good would that do. He unclenched his fist, reached across his chest to grab his opposite shoulder, and squeezed.

He made himself sigh, long and gusting, and breathe deeply. No matter what happened now, someone would be hurt. Elijah was hurting already. He was doomed, apparently, to hurt himself, Chris, the girls. He had managed to get himself into a situation where everyone would lose. Where every option meant harm. He put his head against the glass and felt the tears come.

_I am so fucked,_ Sean thought.

~~~

_III -- Vancouver_

Sean had made sure that he would have access to a gym and weights. Mr. Smith might be a roaming prophetic lunatic who got all the exercise he needed by tramping through the woods, but Mr. Astin needed his Aquafina and his white towels that smelled of bleach and his white fuzzy head band that smelled of sweat no matter how many times it was washed, and his treadmill and his free weights, thank you.

And he used them.

He was lying on the bench one morning, pressing dumbbells up and into the air, then letting them down to each side as his elbows bent, enjoying the stretch in his chest. Flies, this exercise was called, and Sean wished he could. Fly, that is. Fly away. Mr. Smith was fun -- a wacky and yet serious departure from anything he had done before, and he loved it that they had let the writers go with Sean's suggestion for a bit more humor in the character. Jamal and Luke and he could be pretty funny when they got their vibe rolling. Mr. Smith was great.

He lay there, arms working automatically, thinking about this shoot, thinking about television as a medium, thinking about how easy this was compared to _Rings._ He had held on to the early morning habits that a year and a half of Feet and Wigs had given him. For _Jeremiah_ he would get up at five, lift weights, use the treadmill, have his high protein/low carb breakfast, and call Chris before reporting to work at eight. It was perfect. And it made him go to bed early, too, which was just as well.

It had been easier than he thought to say goodbye to Chris. It had felt like fleeing. Like really flying, to get on that plane. Flying away, flying away now.

The repetition of his exercises comforted him. He did not miss Chris. He missed his daughters, but not her. He felt empty and poised -- like Mr. Smith when the voices were all gone. He felt strong and sweaty and alert, like a tennis player waiting for the serve to come rifling toward him. He liked being in shape again. It made him feel competent. Prepared. He wasn't sure what he was preparing for. For now, like Mr. Smith, he would wait for the voices to speak again and show him what to do.

~~~

He was shocked when Elijah called him. He was sitting in the trailer after lunch, his feet up, reading the next batch of scripts. The set call was three o'clock. The cell rang and he answered it and it was Elijah.

"How are you?" Elijah said. He sounded crisp.

"I'm great; what's new?"

"Oh, you know. Getting ready. Got the final script for _Sunshine._ Saw Viggo."

They were silent. Sean realized he was not sure when he had last talked to Elijah.

"Do you like Vancouver?" Elijah went bravely on.

They talked about the city, about what they both knew about it. Elijah had spent time here shooting _All I Want,_ and Sean had been here long enough now that he could talk about the sights, the history, the food, the culture. That was a great subject -- hard to exhaust -- and Sean felt their friendship stir and stretch again. It made him happy -- happier than he would have thought possible, to just chat and bullshit with Elijah like this. He felt their minds rub together, felt sparks.

"I miss you," Sean said suddenly, a non sequitur. His last sentence had been about the waterfront.

Sean could plainly hear Elijah's quick intake of breath at his words. Sean felt the clean wash of excitement in his stomach. He cared about what Elijah would say next. He was surprised all over again at how much he cared.

Elijah said, "I miss you, too. That's why I called, really."

"I'm glad you did."

"Are you? Good. Good. It's -- I'm glad you're glad."

"It's OK, Elijah. Yes, I'm glad you called." Sean was emphatic with those words. He wanted Elijah to know it was all right. The open line sang between them in the pause, thousands of miles of empty air. Sean closed his eyes. Maybe it was easier to make contact this way, with the physical distance so great. Maybe Sean needed such a buffer. Elijah missed him. He let out a breath he had not realized he was holding.

"Sean, I..."

"What?"

"Oh, I wanted to ask -- what about your character? How's the shoot going?"

Sean felt certain that was not what Elijah had been going to say, but he talked about Mr. Smith, he talked about the writers and about Joe. That led to a discussion about religion and how their own beliefs clashed or meshed with the reality of Mr. Smith's prophetic abilities.

Finally a silence fell. It was, again, comfortable. Meditative.

Elijah said, "I should let you go. God, it's good to talk to you like this. I miss you, Sean. I... I like being your friend."

"You are my friend, Elijah; you know that."

"Yes... Well, see you. Break a leg."

"Thanks."

Sean looked at the clock and realized he had been on the phone with Elijah for an hour and a half. He would have to hustle to make his call. An hour and a half, and it had passed like five minutes. He missed Elijah. He closed his eyes and stood up.

~~~

Sean thought about Elijah for three days. Thought about what he had said about intuition, prophecy, angels. Thought about what Elijah told him about Jewish beliefs. Elijah had been in early talks about a script based on a World War II novel, and so he had, of course, read the novel.

Sean woke one morning sure he had dreamed about Elijah, but with no clear memory of the dream. Just a warm, close feeling of his friend's presence.

There was no decision. No forethought. He picked up the phone that evening and called.

"Sean!"

"Hey dude."

They chatted about mundane things -- co-workers, what the Fellowship had got up to. Sean had a fleeting thought that Elijah had not mentioned Dom once, either in this conversation or in the long one they had earlier in the week. He tried not to wonder about what that meant. He had called Elijah with a purpose, and he would execute that purpose. It felt very strong and very important, this idea that he wanted to lay before Elijah.

"Hey, I'll be here for just about another month, you know. Why don't you come for a visit?"

"A visit?"

"Yeah."

Elijah was silent. Sean wondered what he would say, what he would ask. He had to stop himself from filling the pause while Elijah digested his proposal. _Please come. Just come. Don't ask me why. Don't ask me what will happen. I don't the fuck know. Just come. Don't ask me._

"OK. When?"

It felt like another benediction, more mercy. Elijah would come.

"Just whatever works with your schedule. We only shoot five days a week."

"Aren't you coming home on weekends, though?"

"That's flexible," Sean said, refusing to elaborate, either to himself or to Elijah.

"All right. I'll check into some tickets and call you right back."

They hung up and Sean turned on the television. He would not think about why he was so suddenly, crashingly happy. It was enough just to feel it. Elijah would come for a visit.

~~~

They stood on the tiny balcony of Sean's tiny apartment. Sean watched Elijah smoke. They had stopped on the way from the airport for a bite to eat and Elijah had only picked at his food. They both had claimed to be ready to eat and then not eaten much at all.

Sean had relished the way Elijah's eyes widened when he caught sight of Sean. Sean had put on a long-sleeved black t-shirt and some jeans that were not tight, exactly, but that were not baggy either. He had refused to think about the fact that he was dressing to meet Elijah's plane. He would never have done that before the _Towers_ reshoots. With some of the staff from _Jeremiah_ running interference for them, Sean was able to sweep Elijah into his rental car and out into the city without fanfare. He had promised them, when he asked for their help, that he would bring Elijah out for drinks sometime during the weekend and let everyone meet him.

Sean stood there on the balcony, glad that Elijah's attention to his cigarette made it unnecessary for Sean to talk, or to decide whether this was the right time for the real "hello" hug. He had put a cold beer on the railing for Elijah, and he drank some of his own to make a space for his thoughts. Their hug at the airport had been one-armed, perfunctory, encumbered by Elijah's shoulder bag and the presence of the _Jeremiah_ staff. But even so, it had overwhelmed Sean with the concreteness of presence. It had been weeks since he had seen Elijah, and when Sean hugged him, he could smell sharp hair gel, smoke, the stale cold of the inside of a jet. He had felt the firm stretch of Lij's back muscles under his hand. When he had pulled back, he had been unnervingly close to those narrow soft lips. Sean had forgotten until he saw Elijah again how mobile and expressive Elijah's face was. Transient and half-formed emotions played and twisted in the corners of his downcast eyes and his mouth, in the wrinkles of his eyebrows. Elijah was so alive, so mutable, like wind or water. Sean had a sense of barely being able to keep up, yet of luxuriating in the running after.

Standing on the dark balcony in the cool breeze, Sean shook himself and tried to focus. Elijah tapped the ash from his cigarette, and perhaps he was aware of Sean's movement, because he met Sean's eyes, finally, directly, unlike in the restaurant or at the airport, when the public-ness of the places seemed to make him draw inside himself. Sean looked, into those blue eyes that he knew so well, and let himself smile a little bit. Their connection was so real, so benevolent. Why had he been running from it so desperately?

"I'm glad you came," Sean said.

Elijah smiled, too, still wary, and held Sean's gaze. "I'm glad, too. I hope it's still all right, now that I'm actually here."

"I feel like I owe you an apology," Sean said, surprised that he said it.

Elijah's look said, _An apology? You've got to be kidding._ "Sean," he said out loud. "We don't have to talk about this."

"I'm not talking about this. I'm just saying I'm sorry for ... for being so distant. And I'm sorry about you and Dom. I don't think I said that before."

"You haven't been distant," Elijah said, and looked down and saw that his cigarette was burning away. He looked over the railing and decided it wouldn't set anything on fire down there, and tossed it over. He pulled out his pack and lit another one.

Sean smiled again, a little ruefully. He had returned Elijah's lead, _We don't have to talk about this,_ without the least desire to get coy and pretend he didn't know what Elijah was talking about. And Elijah was still conspiring with him to pretend that everything was fine, when Sean knew it wasn't. It occurred to him, a fully formed coherent thought, like someone leaping into the circle cast by a streetlight, that Elijah had come to Vancouver and so Elijah might have thought Sean meant by that to start up their ... affair ... again. Affair was the word, and he rolled it around in his mind. It would do. They had started an affair. Both of them, despite what Elijah had said, that momentous night, about Dom not caring, had been cheating. In the way of these kinds of sordid things, maybe they would cheat again. Was that why Elijah had come? With that hope? Sean had a sudden feeling of getting away with something, of avoiding punishment. It was a guilty pleasure, childish and intense.

He said, still surprised at himself, "Whatever. Would you take it wrong if I said I wanted to hug you?"

Elijah's head snapped toward him as Sean put his arms up, and Elijah put his cigarette on the railing next to his beer and stepped forward. His chest collided with Sean's. His thin arms were tight as wire around Sean's shoulders and torso. His hands were fists against Sean's back. Sean turned his head to smell Elijah's hair again and flinched when his lips accidentally met the skin behind Elijah's ear. But he didn't take his arms from around Elijah's ribs.

Elijah inhaled, let it out, inhaled again and said, "What's to take wrong?"

"Nothing," Sean said, and held on tight.

They stood there for a long time, long enough for Sean to untangle the out-of-sync rhythms of Elijah's heartbeat and his breathing. Long enough for his hands to pick out the rippling pattern of ribs under the oversized old dress shirt and the T under it. Sean stepped back, and Elijah dropped his arms.

"Thanks," Sean said.

~~~

Sean stopped in a rectangle of morning sunlight and looked at Elijah sleeping. He had been on his way to the kitchen to put on coffee, something he knew neither he nor Elijah could live without of a morning, even if they intended to go out for breakfast soon. But he found that even the promise of coffee could not pull him past the sofa without a long, long look.

The night before, there had been a polite and colossal argument over who would sleep on the couch and who in the bedroom. Sean had finally given up trying to get Elijah to take the bed.

Elijah had wanted to take a stroll around the neighborhood before turning in, and Sean had agreed that sounded like a good idea. Then they had come in and gone to bed, orderly, polite, taking turns in the bathroom. Sean noticed with a pang that Elijah had arranged all his toiletries and his contact lens solution and the stuff out of his pockets in an untidy pile on the end table. His bag was right by the table, near his head on the floor by the sofa. All the things he had brought were right there in three square feet of floor space. He had not left anything in the bathroom. It was as if he was trying not to take up any space at all.

_He knows there's no room for him,_ Sean thought, and he puffed out a big breath and went to the coffee machine. He automatically peeled apart filters, found the beans, ground them, shielding the noise with a dishtowel and his body, and poured water, thinking with clarity and a new energy.

_There isn't any room for him. Of course there's not. But what are you supposed to do about it.... No, what do you want to do?_

Sean stopped, letting the carafe of water sink to rest on the linoleum countertop, as he let that last thought sink in. Since when had there been anything to decide; a choice to make? Because, after all, _It never happened. Right?_

Sean gingerly touched, again, his concept from yesterday that what they had had, and were still facing, amounted precisely to an affair. Somehow it comforted him to know what to call it. It was a big, big gulf between that understanding, and a plan for what to do about it, but he knew, finally, that he was going to put away that fictitious script and agree that something had happened. Something important. He had no idea what he could say to Elijah. But at he was finally willing to say it to himself. _It did happen._ And he did owe Elijah an apology.

He sighed, and finished making the coffee. He stood there and listened to the boiling begin and the first spattering drips hit the hot glass, and waited for Elijah to wake.

~~~

After breakfast at a diner Sean liked, they drove around a bit, and Sean showed Elijah some of the locations for _Jeremiah,_ and Elijah pointed out the neighborhood where they had done the exteriors for _All I Want,_ and they visited the cd shop where Franka's character had worked in that movie, and ended up signing a few autographs. They ducked out before the customers could summon too many of their friends via cell phone. The breakfast had been huge, so even though it was approaching lunch time, they weren't ready to eat again. They found their way, at random, back to the apartment. Elijah had a bag of cd's. He seemed unable to enter a store like that without finding things he wanted to buy. He dropped his bag and went out on the balcony for another cigarette (he had not smoked in Sean's car), and Sean, with no real idea why, followed him out there. Elijah looked at him, registering a bit of surprise, and turned his attention back to his smoke and the view. Sean leaned on the railing. His contentment was immense, but seeping up through it was excitement, fragments of memory, a yearning to bridge the silent months with words.

_How could I let him not talk about this? And why am I ready now?_

Sean was leaning on the low railing with both arms, elbows locked, leaning into the breeze as if he were on the deck of a ship. He ruefully identified in himself another one of those turning points when you have a sense of "coming to," of new awareness after a long stretch of what he could only call denial. He was too familiar with psychology and too familiar with himself to escape it. He smiled and tipped his hat once again to all the people who had helped him understand his mother's illness.

Elijah was silent, after chattering amiably through breakfast and through their drive and the shopping. They had talked about Vancouver, about memories of Elijah's silly romantic movie, about Sean's castmates. Sean had realized halfway through their excursion that Elijah had said nothing about Franka Potente. He went back to that now, fumbling for something, some conversational gambit. He had a point to make that he wasn't quite sure of, but this was a place to start.

"Are you still in touch with Franka?" he asked.

"Off and on," Elijah answered, looking at him sidelong.

"I noticed you don't wear that ring all the time any more," Sean observed.

"Yeah... Reporters asked about it all the time and I got tired of the questions. I still have it." Elijah looked pensive and Sean suddenly figured out where he was going with this.

"Tell me about being bi," Sean said, and was rewarded with a sudden smile from Elijah, who stabbed out his cigarette and glanced at him. Then Elijah folded his arms and leaned on the short side of the railing. The chilly breeze pushed at them.

"What do you want to know," Elijah said, and he was still smiling.

Sean's relief was as intense as the grief that had gripped him when he looked at Elijah's luggage and had been sure Elijah was intent on taking up the minimum amount of space. Either Sean had been wrong about that, or one sunlit question was enough to change the mood.

"I'm not sure," Sean said. "If I knew, I could be more specific."

"I think, uh, you know something about it," Elijah said cautiously.

Sean looked at him. Elijah waited, and he was starting to frown.

"It's OK," Sean said. Elijah drew a deep breath and let it out, but he made no move to light another cigarette or to say anything else. Sean found himself pondering again the incredible control Elijah had over his own expressions and body language when he chose. It was part of his gift as an actor, but it tore at Sean now. All these months he had welcomed Elijah's careful distance, at a cost to his friend that Sean could only guess at. Now he yearned to be rid of it, to see what Elijah really felt, really knew. And yet... and yet. Was that fair? Was Sean ready for that? Sean realized he was gripping the railing tightly and he made his hands relax without moving them.

Finally Elijah turned to look at the skyline, and he said, "You tell me. How it is."

A new wave of fear that was quite indistinguishable from excitement coursed through Sean. He let the pause stretch out, but he knew he intended to answer. He let the memories of _that night_ come to him, full blown; memories of Elijah lying in his lap on the sofa in the Wellington flat, of Sean's surprise, his drunk euphoria, of a desire that seemed at once impossible and familiar. But Elijah must have decided Sean wasn't going to say anything, because his voice had gone a little tight when he spoke again.

"You don't have to label everything, you know. Bi, gay, straight." He paused. "Transgendered," he intoned, drawing out the n's. Sean chuckled, and Elijah lit another cigarette.

"No, I wasn't hung up on a label. Really. I was just thinking," Sean said, and he could feel Elijah relax. He shook his head as if to clear it. Elijah. Still his best friend, despite everything. That knowledge gave him more courage than he had thought he had.

"I was really surprised, and drunk," Sean said. "It just felt great. I just wanted you. No duh, right? You knew that."

Elijah was looking at him with that repressed, controlled expression that Sean had come to hate. He leaned toward Elijah and put out a hand, but dropped it when Elijah flinched. "Sorry," Sean said. "I'm really sorry. Maybe I shouldn't bring it up."

Elijah flicked his cigarette over the railing and sidled over to bump his shoulder cautiously into Sean's.

"What? And waste this expense-account love-nest?"

Sean looked shocked. So that was what Elijah thought.

"You can take that as a joke, OK?" Elijah said hastily, retreating to the other end of the balcony again, and Sean pulled off his ball cap and smacked Elijah with it. Elijah giggled and leaned back against the railing again. Sean carefully reseated his ball cap and tried to think. He purposefully stood closer to Elijah than he had a minute ago.

Sean went on, "I mean, it was no different than any lust I ever had before, except it was for you, of course."

Elijah waited.

"I don't know what freaked my shit more -- the fact that I had cheated, or the fact that maybe I had to ... like you said. Not really find a label." Sean shook his head. "But -- change."

Elijah smoked and watched him. Sean could almost hear him thinking. Sean loved it that his body language was finally relaxed, but Sean could see that his face was still carefully arranged. _"You knew. And if you didn't, Sam did," _ Elijah had insisted that night, lying half-crushed by Sean's weight. Sean remembered suddenly that a psychologist acquaintance of his had called denial the soul's shock absorber. He looked at Elijah, really looked at him, and let himself remember more of that night back in Wellington.... Standing up, following Elijah to the bedroom. The feeling of that skin against his, that body under his own.

Sean went on, "So I think that brings us up to date, would you say?" His pulse was higher and his face felt a little hot. He wondered if he were turning pink; if Elijah would notice. He took a deep breath.

Elijah kept looking at Vancouver. "I really want us to be friends again, Sean. I was really glad you invited me to come because I thought, shit, at least we can hang out, be friends again." He shifted his weight, gnawed on a fingernail and then looked at it, his cigarette pumping out smoke in his other hand. "I've missed you."

Sean stepped over and hugged Elijah like he had the night before.

"I missed you, too," he said into Elijah's hair. "I was just scared."

"I know."

"And guilty."

Elijah sighed. "Yeah. That."

Sean tilted his head just enough to let his lips snuggle against Elijah's skull. It might have been a kiss, but it might not have. His intention wasn't clear to Sean. Elijah was standing very still, but Sean could feel how warm he was, and how his heart had speeded up. They stood there until Sean let go and Elijah stood up straight, meeting his eyes. Sean looked into them, feeling he was being given a gift, this directness -- so missed, he realized. He had missed Elijah so much.

"I don't care what we do, Sean. No. Wait. That's not true. I do care what we do now. It's like I told you on the plane. It's not worth it if it ruins our friendship. And I didn't mean to trigger, like, this big identity crisis for you, you know. I'm sorry."

"No, no." Sean looked at the skyline again. "So we're back to the original question, aren't we?"

"About being bi?" Elijah chuckled. "Looks like you've got an appropriate label, guy. Go with it."

Sean knew Elijah was leaving it up to him to talk about Christine, about the cheating, if that was going to be a topic at all, and that Elijah had no intention of saying her name. If Sean wanted to explain that part of it, he had to bring it up again. He knew Elijah would not ask him.

"Um, and you know, the cheating was a bitch, too. That was the thing."

"I know." Elijah looked away again, and Sean felt a deep need for those eyes and what they could show him: The pure want and purer love, the knowledge that he was that important. He pulled on the railing again, and then let go and shrugged his tight shoulders. He still had that sense of fumbling his way in the dark, wanting to give Elijah something, wanting to apologize. _What do you want? What can you do?_

"Look, I know I hurt you by how I reacted. I think... I think I'm ... over my identity crisis." Elijah looked at him and smiled at the echo of his own words. "And I'm sorry I had one, you know? I mean, I don't see why I had to get all torn up over that."

"Well, it's kind of a big deal, Sean," Elijah said mildly.

"I don't mean that. Of course it's a big deal; I'm not trying to minimize it. I just... I'm just sorry I hurt you, because I know I did."

Elijah had looped his thumbs through his belt loops as he listened, and he let his chin sink a bit and cautiously sidled over to Sean. "Some of these zoo animals," he said, "tend to spook when you approach them."

"Wanker," Sean said as Elijah's arms closed around him. They stood there, wrapped together, and Sean shivered pleasantly as Elijah pushed his lips and nose into Sean's hair and inhaled.

"I'm pretty dense sometimes, Elijah, but -- "

The snicker erupted into a laugh. "No, really?"

"Quit it, ring boy." Sean poked him. "But I did not want to hurt you and I'm not gonna lie to you about it any more." His voice dropped to a whisper, even though they were alone. "It was a fucking incredible night."

He felt Elijah nod.

~~~

So far this weekend, Sean had gotten to totally indulge in his love of watching Elijah sleep. Elijah took a nap on the sofa that afternoon. It made Sean wonder what coming to Vancouver had cost Elijah emotionally, psychically, and again he had to kick himself about how hard Elijah had been working and how upset the whole situation must had made him. But it was better now for him, Sean concluded. The nap was a sign of that. It was like he could finally relax. Sean sat by him and watched his chest move with his breathing, and his eyelids, and thought about exhausted Frodo napping on the set. He studied his _Jeremiah_ scripts. After Elijah woke up, they watched fragments of movies on satellite and ordered carryout Thai, and when it got dark they changed and headed for a bar. Several nice things had converged: Sean would get to show Elijah off to the _Jeremiah_ cast and crew, and Elijah would get to hear the local up-and-coming band he had investigated at the cd store. Elijah was slowly and methodically creating his record label, and Sean had to admire how carefully he was taking it. Sean didn't think he had been that thoughtful at the same age.

At the bar, they bantered and talked shop with the _Jeremiah_ crowd, but once the band started it was way too loud to talk. They drank mediocre draft beer out of pitchers, and Sean found himself watching Elijah watch the band.

_I'm here with him tonight,_ Sean thought. _He's my date. Elijah Wood is my date._ He rolled that around in his mind, next to the word "affair," just to see how it felt. Could he get used to this thing, this idea of himself with a guy? If the guy was Elijah, it really didn't seem hard, he had to admit. He watched Elijah clap for the music, and smoke and lean back and catch Sean's eye. They smiled at each other. It seemed very easy and comfortable. Sean was amused at himself to discover that it was much easier to be out, in Elijah's company, at his new weight and shining with his new successes. Being in New Zealand had been so hard for him. This was better. He sighed, still watching Elijah. Elijah got up and left the room, Sean supposed to take a piss, and Sean wasn't even surprised when Elijah came back and sat down and scooted his chair up to the table just a little closer to Sean, and let his knee sag casually against Sean's thigh. Elijah carefully didn't look at him, but Sean left his leg there.

~~~

Cab ride home. Farewells and happy teasing. Promises to get together, silly threats to write in a character for Elijah. When Sean had gotten in the cab, he had stretched out his arm and Elijah had snuggled up to him as if they did it every day. Elijah was relaxed under his arm, his head leaning against Sean's. But somehow Sean knew that Elijah was wide awake, savoring and feeling every bit of contact, just as he was.

_How does this feel, smart guy? So you're pretending to be out on a gay date. You liking this? It working for you? The continued future cheating gonna go just this well?_

Sean sternly told himself to stop it, but he knew it was futile. So, OK. This was what happened to him when he tore down that wall of _It never happened._ He was confronted with the reality of how lovely, comfortable, right and easy it seemed to spend time with Elijah. And he was right back on the uncomfortable decision he had run from months ago in Wellington, this time without the shock absorber of denial.

What was he going to do about it? He breathed deeply and the movement made Elijah stir next to him and give a little snort of comfort and settling. Sean consciously noted how good Elijah felt under his arm. It would about three more minutes from this to getting turned on, Sean calculated. Less if he really started thinking about it.

That night during reshoots had been the best sex of his life. And there was more, of course. It had always been easy to say he loved Elijah, but when you say it to each other while you're coming, well, that's something a bit different, isn't it. That's something that can change your life. Even the kind of carefully built, organized and perfect life Sean had thought he had. _It never happened?_ Like hell.

They arrived at Sean's building and he paid the cabbie. He was not drunk; at least not very. Elijah had drunk a lot more than he had. Elijah slid his arm around Sean's shoulders again as they went up the walk, and left it there in the elevator and all the way to the door, even while Sean dug around in his pockets to find his keys. Elijah looked sleepy and contented and Sean was very happy.

Without speaking, Sean went in to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He heard the television come on while he was in there. When he came out, Elijah was standing with the remote, flicking channels.

"Your turn," Sean said, taking the remote from him. He didn't sit down, but did as Elijah had done -- flipped channels, watching only a few seconds of each one until Elijah reappeared, in his glasses, his shirttails hanging over his jeans, his face damp.

"Sure you won't take the bed?" Sean said.

"Shit, no. It's your bed. I'm fine out here," Elijah insisted.

They stood there. Sean could have gone in the bedroom and gone to bed, but he had waited here, waited for Elijah to come back out. He had the gritty ebbing feeling of alcohol wearing off.

_You know you're gonna do it,_ he thought. _So don't torture the guy._

Sean walked up to Elijah and slid his arms around him. His heart was pounding. He held him, cheek pressed to his ear. It still could be a friendly good night hug, just between the guys, like any of the Fellowship could do.

"Could I," Sean started, but he couldn't say any more words. He pulled back, searching Elijah's face, and Elijah's hands gripped his forearms. Elijah's expression was neutral and kind, but Sean felt the tension singing in Elijah's body. He was wearing a tiny frown.

Sean leaned forward, and kissed him. Sean wondered if coke would do this to you; give you this hyper-awareness. He registered Elijah's sudden inhale, and the kiss started to develop. Elijah's mouth softened and molded to his; Elijah's arms crept around his neck. Sean wanted the kiss to last, wanted to taste and feel and lean into it. He kept it dry and soft, but his lips worked against Elijah's. He started to get hard, and he slid his hand down to the small of Elijah's back and pressed their bodies together. Elijah hands slid to his shoulders, danced a little, and Elijah pulled back first. He ran a hand through his hair. His other hand was still on Sean's shoulder.

His expression was raw, disbelieving, hurt.

"It did happen, OK?" Sean said. "I'm sorry I put you through the last few months."

Elijah squeezed Sean's shoulders and nodded. Then he looked down and stepped back.

"We should go to sleep," he said, and Sean reached out and squeezed his shoulder and went into the bedroom.

~~~

_IV -- New York_

"No, no, no, here," Elijah insisted, grabbing the champagne bottle from Sean. With two firm twists, he had the wire hood off. His eyes met Sean's, triumphant yet wary, his head turned to Sean but his body facing slightly away so that the bottle's neck was not pointed at Sean. He put his thumbs to the fat cork and eased it out, still looking in Sean's eyes, and there was a tiny, deep "pop." The little smoky tongue of condensation trailed out. Elijah handed Sean the champagne and slipped the cork into his jacket pocket; one gesture, like a magician misdirecting.

"Oh, very good," Sean said. Elijah spread his palms in a "nothing to it" gesture and looked at the dining table where the flutes stood. Sean poured. He had brought the flutes, giftwrapped, and the champagne, too.

They were alone, at last, Sean thought, after a week of busy and tiring unpacking, and an overdose of Elijah's family. Tonight after everyone else left, they had cleaned up in the strangely silent apartment, changed clothes, and gone out for dinner. Now they were back.

"To Elijah's new apartment," Sean said, and drank.

"To all the fun to be had here," Elijah said, and he drank, too. He stood there a second and then carried his glass into the living room and sat on the couch. Sean followed him, thinking that this was the cleanest and most organized this apartment would ever be. The noise of the city seeped in through the walls and windows, the streets waking up all over again as the evening deepened, and Sean thought he could feel New York, feel its energy and its relentlessness, so different from the energy of Los Angeles.

Elijah had moved to New York. The decision had been impulsive, yet it made perfect sense, like so many things Elijah did. He, like Viggo, was capable of snap decisions that had a weight and a freedom to them that amazed Sean. Sean, by contrast, tended to overplan. He knew that about himself. He looked around the sparely furnished room. Framed posters, new furniture that was vaguely Craftsman, vaguely Shaker. An enormous, brushed-metal entertainment and music center with enough remotes to run the Starship Enterprise. Elijah had programmed them while he let his sister and mom attend to such mundane things as unpacking the kitchen. Sean noticed there were no _Lord of the Rings_ souvenirs here in the living room at all. Sting was hanging on a wall in the bedroom, though.

He looked at Elijah, and found Elijah looking at him. It was the first quiet moment they had had together since Sean had arrived six days ago. Like always, Sean found himself blindsided by the immense presence Elijah had, the energy, as crackling as that of the streets outside, that poured off him. They both smiled and drank more champagne. Sean wondered how he appeared to Elijah now. He felt so different inside that he had to wonder if he looked different. He knew he was tingling with anticipation at how all the differences he felt would be expressed for the rest of the weekend! It had been weeks since they had seen each other, though they had emailed and talked on the phone almost every day. The careful distance was gone. Sean had his best friend back. But being alone together -- Sean realized he had no idea what might happen, tonight or tomorrow, and that he was happy not to know. It meant... possibility. He shook his head at himself. That was one big difference already: him, welcoming the unknown.

He looked at Elijah again, noticing how comfortable yet full the silence was. When they were apart, it was possible for Sean to incautiously forget that his decisions, his ideas, his notions were only half the equation. Sean had come to help Elijah move in, and he had some ideas about what else he thought should happen between them on this trip, but once again he was confronted with the elusive, intelligent package on the other end of the couch, and he felt himself at a loss.

Spontaneity had never been his thing, but in the last five years, he had sure learned a lot about what it looked like, mostly by watching Elijah and Viggo. Sean still marveled at how Viggo had committed to the longterm project of the _Rings_movies practically overnight. He admired most, though, the strange and magical combination of preparation and spontaneity that he had seen in Peter Jackson. Sean had learned so much. Was still learning so much. _Rings_ had changed him, had changed them all.

"How did _Rings_ change you?" he burst out, knowing Elijah would follow him even though it seemed to be a question out of nowhere. Elijah's smile widened. Sean realized he'd been lost in his thoughts, and that Elijah had been gently looking at him all that time.

"Well, I grew up. You know that. I was a teenager when we started, and I grew up."

Sean nodded. "Does one ever really grow up? What is growing up?"

Elijah looked in his champagne. "Well, I think it's about responsibility. Making decisions. Some people never grow up emotionally. But the --" he sketched the air "-- exterior, certainly, changes. You go out on your own. You leave your parents. You spend your own money, make your own money. That definitely happens."

"You grew up," Sean said, musing. "How did _Rings_ change me?"

"Sean! You're supposed to know that, not me."

"Am I?" Sean asked, quite seriously. Elijah breathed in and out. It was more like a sigh.

"Are we gonna talk about it again?" Elijah sounded almost teasing.

"We haven't talked about it since the last time we were out of LA."

"And now we're out of LA again. Sean. I can't tell you anything. I've said too much, pushed too much, all this time." Elijah abruptly went to the balcony's sliding door. He lit a cigarette and cracked the door open a bit, a small concession to Sean's aversion to his smoking. He was in his own apartment, after all.

"No, Elijah, you haven't pushed."

"Well, it felt like it."

"Lij. It's been me who's been pushing lately. Not you." He watched Elijah's back and smiled at himself. Their affair was out in the open now -- oh, not to anyone but them. Not to their friends; certainly not to Chris. But between the two of them, it was there. Since Elijah's visit to Vancouver, it had been right there again, and Sean had been letting everything about it integrate, seep through him. Sean felt, bone-deep, the affair mixed in with their friendship, even though the entire thing was based on that one night in Wellington and that one kiss in Vancouver. It didn't matter that they hadn't slept together or done more than friendly Fellowship kissing and hugging since then. Elijah was still changing him.

He was aware, suddenly, of the leather of the couch under his left hand; of the cold surface of the champagne flute, of how he felt -- sore and relaxed and strong again. He could lift boxes without effort, could climb those fucking stairs over and over. He felt competent and put together and in shape. Even handsome, though saying that when he was in the same room with Elijah always made him laugh at himself. But it had all been changing, all these things about himself, all at once and slowly, both. Leaving the familiar round of his LA life for this trip had made the new Sean come into the sharpest focus yet.

He was serious about his question. He wanted to understand how he had changed; furthermore, he wanted Elijah's take on it. Sean thought of the old way of developing photos, the way Viggo did it. The blank paper sat in the chemicals and slowly, slowly, the picture formed. Too subtly for sitting there and watching it, but go away for a while and come back, and there the photo was.

An urgent thought, the point that he wanted to make, started to form, and so he said it out loud. (Elijah caused him think out loud. Elijah was his catalyst; and he was sure Elijah knew it, though Elijah did not always seem willing to admit that.)

"I know one way I've changed. I've outgrown my marriage."

Even though he was ready to say it, Sean was rather shocked at himself. It was the first time he had let himself make that thought into words. How long, he wondered, had he known this was true?

"No," Elijah said, and let his forehead fall against the glass of the sliding door. The silence stretched out, and then Elijah turned around and looked at Sean. "No, Sean. That doesn't have to happen."

"I think it's already happened, buddy."

"You haven't told her that."

"No. I haven't told her anything." Elijah looked relieved. "Not anything. Not about making love to you back in Wellington, not about how I know, now, that what I am is bi. Not a thing."

"I don't know what to say, Sean. I don't fucking know what to say." Elijah dragged on his cigarette, then noticed he still had his champagne glass, and drank from it. He sagged against the glass door again, but with his shoulders and butt this time.

"Get away from the door, Elwood. You're making me nervous."

Elijah glared at him and Sean was glad to see a tiny touch of humor. "It's safety glass, Sean. The little seal's right here," Elijah retorted, pointing.

Sean got up and came over and looked, leaving his glass on the coffee table.

"Well, good. In these old places, you never know."

Had Elijah intended to call him over or had it just happened? It didn't really matter, because now Sean was close, and that was where he wanted to be. He stood back up after bending to take a look at the tiny black-lettered seal on the glass panel, and it brought his face to within a foot of his friend's. Elijah gazed at him, his expression unreadable except for its undeniable intensity. Sean reveled all over again in the blue eyes, the faint lines that marked where Elijah's smile would redefine his face, the scar buried in his eyebrow, the sideburns that Elijah had let get long again. Sean could smell smoke and the sharp scent of the champagne and the warmth of Elijah's skin. He stood there, letting himself feel it, feel the pull Elijah had always had on him and that he was now able to fully appreciate. It was like getting lost in a symphony, in the ocean. Elijah's eyes narrowed the tiniest bit as he stared into Sean's, and he brought the hand holding his champagne slowly up and put the back of it against Sean's cheek.

"I'm really glad you've got all your labels straightened out and firmly in place. I really am. I want you to be happy." Elijah let his hand fall away. "But don't you see. In one way I could just kick myself. I never wanted that to happen. I never wanted to hurt you, or hurt Chris." He turned again, looking out the window. "I was so fucking stupid to kiss you like that -- to fucking take you to bed like that. I was drunk and I was being impulsive and stupid and now look what's happened."

Sean put his hand on Elijah's shoulder. "You said no one had to know. That was your plan. Or, more accurately, you had no plan. You just got carried away, and so did I."

Elijah turned to look at him, and now the fear and pain were plain to see. "Carried away is a severe understatement, and you know that. Shit." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I hate hurting people. I fucking hate it."

"You hurt, too. I saw it, all last winter," Sean said. Elijah let Sean gather him in, stood there while Sean hugged him, offering comfort. Sean put his lips into Elijah's hair. But then Elijah pulled away, shrugging, lifting up both his smoldering cigarette and the wineglass. He strode over to the coffee table and mashed out the clove, set down the glass.

"Not as grown up as all that, huh," he said, not turning around. Sean circled the coffee table and sat down where he could look up at Elijah. He wondered how in the world he could feel so calm. But he did. He felt calm and coiled and reverently happy to be here, to be high up in this beautiful old building in this scarred, rushing city, on the other coast from everything that meant California. Here with Elijah in Elijah's new life. It was exactly what he wanted, exactly where he wanted to be. When he went back home, there would be some kind of hell to pay, but it would all happen step by step. He didn't have to worry about that now. It would all come in its own time, and right now, he was with Elijah. Nothing else mattered.

"We don't have to talk about this any more, Elijah. Any more tonight, I mean. I just know I _have_ changed. I wanted you to see, wanted you to know that all the shit that crashed in on me back during the _Towers_ reshoots -- I've worked it through, I think. I'm okay. I'm not trying to get you to make any decisions or do anything. I just wanted you to know."

Elijah began to pace. He said, "It's okay -- we might as well talk about it. It's not like I don't think about it. Alot."

"I know. I think about it, too."

He let Elijah pace. Sean knew pretty soon he would light another cigarette, and he did.

Sean said, "You probably feel like a homewrecker."

"Well of course! How else would it make me feel."

"It's a mess, isn't it."

Elijah's glance as he tossed his lighter back on the coffee table was panicked. Sean hated that. As much as he had struggled and felt pain, he didn't want to inflict any more on Elijah. He got up and went quickly around the coffee table and took Elijah's cigarette away from him, plunked it into the ash tray, scattering ashes, and hugged Elijah again. This time Elijah's arms came around him and he buried his face in Sean's shoulder.

"We're leaving something out," Sean said. "Something really important." He stood there waiting.

"Now who's pushing."

"My point, buddy..... I'm pushing. No, it's just been pushed -- it's not that I was pushing or you were pushing. It's just gotten to this point, been pushed to this point, and I'll say it now; I'm not a bit afraid to any more." He drew a breath and tightened his arms. "I love you, Elijah. I love you and I want you, and I have for years. I'm not sorry for what's happened between us so far. Not one bit."

Elijah pulled back and looked at him, and he didn't let go.

"But your marriage. Your girls."

They looked at each other, frowning, but even when talking about divorce and his kids, Sean drew such comfort from Elijah's touch, from his closeness.

"I know," Sean said. "I know. I don't have a plan for everything, Elijah. I didn't come here with a plan."

Elijah's eyes closed and he put his face against Sean's neck. "I love you, too, Sean," he whispered.

"Okay," Sean said.

"Can we sit down," Elijah said. They did, but Elijah did not want to move away. He wanted to snuggle up to Sean. They sat close, arms wrapped, thighs touching, but to Sean it felt totally like comfort and only about three percent like foreplay. It was wonderful. He knew, with total certainty, that he should shut up because Elijah was finally going to talk to him. He knew Elijah could finally tell that he could take it. It had been a long time since he had felt older than Elijah, but for once, he did. He settled his mind down to listen.

"I hurt you, then I hurt Dom, and now I'm hurting Chris. I can't even think about hurting Liz and Ally. Jesus. I can't be this person, Sean. It's wrong... You know how much I hurt Dom by sleeping with you and then not being able to let it go. It's a miracle that he got over it. If it weren't for Billy and Viggo, I doubt he would have. I doubt we'd still be friends."

"I know."

"Did you hear what I said?" Elijah leaned back and looked at Sean, still panicked. "It was this close, fucking up our Fellowship was _this close,_ and I did it. It would have been my fault, Sean."

"Shh," Sean said again, and gathered Elijah against his body again and held him. Elijah was quiet for a minute before he went on.

"I'll regret that till the day I die, what I did to him. I just _did_ these things and I hurt you both, and your family. Sean...." Elijah leaned back and looked at Sean, aghast.

Sean was calm. "I told you this after Dom let you have it, and I'll tell you again now. You didn't hurt anybody on purpose. You did some things that resulted in people being hurt, but you did not hurt them on purpose."

"It comes to the same thing, in the end."

"I believe motives are important. I believe they count."

"And now it's just getting worse again! If you get divorced? Shit."

Sean tightened his arms around Elijah and just inhaled him. It was a mess. There was no way around it. But he had discovered weeks ago that he was not afraid of it.

"Elijah, I wouldn't trade these feelings I am having because of you for anything. I wouldn't trade who I am now for who I was before. I wouldn't. I love you, and all I know to do is to go on. I came to that in Vancouver, even before you got there, really. All I know to do is to be honest with you from now on. That's all I've got."

"Honesty is overrated."

Sean snorted.

Elijah went on, "I think about you all the time. Ever since I ended it with Dom, I think about you. I would tell myself I shouldn't, I would go out, see other people --"

"Girls, too -- amazing."

"Yes, dammit, girls, too, don't change the subject, you wanker. You know I've been working, too; I've been busy. I haven't been sitting around wishing for china patterns. But shit. I'm not gonna get over you, Sean. I think if I were going to, I would have by now."

"I'm not gonna get over you, either," Sean whispered, and put his lips against Elijah's cheek. Elijah inhaled and turned his head and kissed Sean, kissed him with all the longing and fear that he had been holding back for so long. Heat blossomed in Sean's groin, flashed through him. His suit jacket was way too heavy. He was hard. Elijah was petting the sides of his face, soft quick strokes, putting a hand at the back of his neck and moving it, laying light little touches on Sean's ears. They kissed, intense and tender, tilting their heads. Sean moaned. Elijah drew back, and he was panting.

"What the fuck do we do now, Sean?"

"I think that's all we have to decide; what to do with--"

"No!" Elijah burst out laughing and bonked his forehead against Sean's hard enough to hurt. "No more Gandalf quotes! Ever! Dammit!" He grabbed Sean's head and kissed him again, more thoughtfully.

Sean just sat there and took it, held Elijah's shoulders and let him do it. He was on fire. His trousers were way too tight. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Elijah gently explored his mouth. Sean could feel his breath softly puffing from his nose, taste the wine and the cloves. He could not remember the last time he had felt this happy. Even back in Wellington, that one night, he had not felt this fierce delight. Alcohol and exhaustion had blunted it then. Now, he felt like Superman. Able to leap tall buildings at a single bound, right here in Gotham City. He put his palm against Elijah's warm neck and let his head sink back a little further. Elijah leaned on his chest, his lips sealed against Sean's, moving slower and slower. The kiss wound down, punctuated with some smaller ones, misshapen by their smiles. Sean opened his eyes to see Elijah's still closed. Sean felt like melted butter. Elijah stopped kissing him and leaned his forehead against Sean's.

Then Elijah got up, very slowly, and went over to the balcony door, lifting both hands to the top of his head, his elbows sticking out to the sides. He stood there a minute, then turned around, and Sean could see his flushed face, how his erection was pushing at his baggy jeans, how he could barely contain whatever emotion was surging under his skin. Sean closed his eyes and felt love and arousal and bliss running in his blood. It would be all right. He knew, suddenly and clearly, just exactly how much he wanted to lay Elijah down in that big white damask-covered bed in there and fuck him until they both screamed. He could see it; it was like a movie behind his eyes. He opened them again and looked at Elijah and knew Elijah could see it on his face. He loved it that he didn't have to hide that, or anything else.

Sean said, and his voice was ragged, "Well, it may suck as a quote. But it's true."

"What are we going to do," Elijah repeated softly, looking in his eyes, and Sean could see even from across the room how much Elijah wanted him, too. "...Let's go for a walk before we end up in bed, okay?" Elijah said.

"You spoil everything," Sean said, but he was already on his feet and automatically feeling for his keys.

~~~

The night was breezy and cool, and as soon as they were on the sidewalk Sean took Elijah's arm and pulled it through his own. They walked in silence for several blocks, arm in arm, their hands in their pockets, looking in storefronts, watching the taxis, watching people shop and eat and drink coffee. The breeze had a soft edge to it, as if it might rain. Sean smiled to himself when he noticed they were walking in step. They kind of had to, as close as they were.

"Did you move to New York to get away from me?" Sean asked. Elijah's glance was sharp. "I mean, just to have more distance from the, ah, mess."

Elijah considered before answering. "I don't think so. No. If I did, it was only a little."

"I wondered."

"It was funny, you know, after Vancouver it got harder and it got easier. It was great to have you back, but it just made it harder to -- to be in love with you and still think it was all impossible."

"God, I feel bad about those first few weeks after the reshoots. I look back and I see how upset you were, but at the time I was so oblivious."

"Don't feel bad. It was crazy. It was just a crazy time."

A small park opened on their right, a trees looming darkly against a distant splash of security lighting. A sidewalk curved invitingly past an old, low, wrought iron fence. Sean steered them into the park and they stopped in the shadow of the first tree.

Elijah commented, "It looks so different in the dark. This is where all the moms come in the afternoons."

Easily, automatically, Sean's arms went around Elijah's shoulders, and he felt Elijah's palms against his hipbones.

"I don't want all the craziness we've been through to be for nothing," Sean said. "I want to be with you. I want this, now. I think you do, too."

"I do want it, Sean.... I just hate the thought of breaking up your marriage." Elijah slowly dragged his nose back and forth against Sean's, and then put his cheek against Sean's.

"It's not just you deciding this stuff. You keep forgetting that. I ran away pretty hard after that first night. I could have just kept running."

"But you didn't."

Sean kissed him softly. "Pretty sneaky of you, huh, moving up here at the critical moment, getting as far away from the divorce crap as possible. You always had impeccable timing, Mr. Wood."

He tried to kiss Elijah again, but Elijah turned his face away.

"Jesus, Sean, I can't joke about this; how can you kid around about it? Your girls! Jesus." He stepped back and felt in his pockets for his cigarettes. Sean considered him, head a little to one side.

"It's either laugh or cry, I guess. But I'm not divorcing Ally and Lizzy."

Elijah flapped his hand as if to push the ideas away. "I'm not going to harp on it now, Sean. It's just -- you know."

Sean did know. He took Elijah's hand as they walked, by unspoken agreement, back toward Elijah's building. He and Elijah both knew about parents splitting up. Long ago they had compared notes about their childhoods. Going over it again now wouldn't help.

They walked back in silence. Elijah finished his cigarette, his other hand firm and cool in Sean's. Back in the quiet apartment, Sean hung up his coat and his suit jacket and waited for Elijah to do the same. Then he pulled Elijah toward the master bedroom. Elijah looked at him warily.

Sean said soothingly, "Let's just lie down, all right? Won't you?"

Sean kicked off his loafers and sank into the thick white bedspread, watching Elijah sit on the edge of the bed to unzip his boots. He slid around to face Sean and stretched out, leaning on one elbow. Then he sighed and fell onto his back.

"All this kvetching is very exhausting."

"Lightweight," Sean said. He reached out and ran his fingers through Elijah's hair, began to trace his hairline down to his ear and along his sideburn, then back up to cover the same path with two skimming fingertips. Elijah sighed again, but this time it was more like contentment. He reached out to lay a hand randomly against Sean's torso, just to be touching him. Sean propped himself higher on his elbow, to give himself more room to touch Elijah's hair and then trace his ear. He pressed on the skin of Elijah's forehead, massaging first one temple, then the other, listening with satisfaction as Elijah sighed, eyes closed. Elijah rolled his shoulders and shook his head a little as the tension began to evaporate under Sean's hands. Sean sat up so that he could slide his hands behind Elijah's neck, to work on the ropy muscles that supported his head, but found the angle awkward. He slid one leg across Elijah so that he could kneel over him, all his weight on his knees, Elijah's stomach deliciously warm against his groin. He leaned forward and dug in again to the muscles behind Elijah's neck.

Elijah's eyes came open to accusingly glare up at Sean, but they closed again right away.

"Shhh," Sean said, and was rewarded with a tiny, close-lipped smile.

"You used to do this all the time for me when we were shooting. I loved it then."

"I know. I loved it, too," Sean answered quietly. His hands moved down to curl behind Elijah's shoulders, his strong fingers getting at the muscles that ran along above his shoulder blades. He paused to stroke his thumbs along Elijah's collar bones, hidden under the old, striped dress shirt. Elijah wore the weirdest clothes, Sean thought for the millionth time. He was making the dorky geek look into a fashion statement, somehow. But then, he would surprise Sean by showing up for some event in velvet, or a traditional black satin tux, or submit to a photo shoot that transformed him into an Anne Rice fantasy.

Sean squeezed methodically out along the tops of Elijah's shoulders, then down and along his biceps. He noticed, smiling, how touching Elijah was quietly making his own body steam and mutter to itself, like a kettle on the back of a stove.

He brought his hands back together, working on Elijah's pecs, pressing carefully on the tender area where the muscles flattened and sloped up toward Elijah's collarbone. Elijah stirred under him, and his hands crept between Sean's to find his own top button and undo it. Sean moved his hands outward to give him room, making himself avoid Elijah's nipples as he kept working on chest muscles.

"I know what you're doing," Elijah said. That was three buttons. There was no undershirt.

"What," Sean said, the word a strained whisper as he softly pushed aside the fronts of Elijah's shirt. He spread his fingers wide, reaching along Elijah's ribs as they curved under the upper arms, allowing his thumbs to graze the bottom of the brownish aureoles.

"Seducing me," Elijah said, spreading his arms out on the bed, elbows loosely bent. Sean could see the pulse in his neck, and could feel him getting hard under Sean's thigh.

"Doing a damn fine job of it, too," Sean said. He braced his weight by pressing tightly against Elijah's ribcage, and bent down to kiss him. Elijah's arms came around him and Sean moaned. He shifted, straightening his legs, letting one slip between Elijah's thighs. Elijah's fingers were in his hair. Sean sucked softly at his mouth, then Elijah slowly but insistently invaded Sean's mouth with his tongue. Sean put his hands on the bed and levered himself up again, sliding his knees out and his body downward so that he could kneel over Elijah again. Elijah's gaze was soft and hot as Sean pushed his shirt collar back. Elijah lifted his torso and Sean got the striped shirt off and tossed aside, and Sean sat still as Elijah lay flat again and undid the buttons of Sean's plain white shirt, not hurrying.

"I want you," Sean said, "so much." Elijah smiled up at him. Sean unbuttoned his cuffs and tossed his shirt away. He sat back on his heels and closed his eyes at the sensation of Elijah's warm, smooth hands running over his abdomen, pressing, squeezing, and he caught his breath as Elijah's fingers closed over his nipples.

"You are a gym rat now," Elijah said, and Sean laughed with pleasure.

"Don't encourage me. I'm way too proud of not looking like Sam any more."

"You still look like Sam. You are Sam. My Sam," Elijah insisted, pinching harder, making Seam moan and shake his head. He leaned down again, and Elijah slid his hands around to Sean's back. Sean kissed his way down Elijah's ribs. He pushed at the baggy jeans and baggier boxers until Elijah's "nine" tattoo was exposed on his hip. Sean kissed it, and the kiss lingered.

"Don't move," Sean said, and he stood up and shucked his slacks and socks, leaving his boxers on. Elijah's hands found his hair again as he scooted down the bed to put his mouth to Elijah's tattoo again. Elijah smelled wonderful -- warm and clean, like Ivory soap. He cupped Elijah's erection through his jeans as he traced the tattoo with his tongue, feeling the firm ridge jump as he pressed. Sean raised up to look at the tattoo again, and kissed it again, sucking hard so that he could pull skin between his teeth

"Oh, shit," Elijah said, and rocked up into his hand. Sean smiled and blindly tongued the outline again, trying to decide if the skin felt different, while he found Elijah's jeans button and eased the zipper down. He was breathing harder, knowing what was next. Elijah was wiggling next to him, helping, and Sean lost the connection with Elijah's hip as Elijah yanked his jeans and boxers off and stripped his socks, too. Elijah lay back down next to Sean and pushed at the waistband of Sean's boxers.

"You, too," he urged. Sean let him get him out of his last item of clothing, barely registering Elijah's tugs and murmured curses, because he was pinning one of Elijah's thighs with a forearm, trying to hold Elijah still so that he could bury his lips in the curling hair at the base of his cock. Elijah got Sean's boxers off, freeing Sean to lean down and inhale the warm, faintly sour smell of him, kissing through the curling dark hair. Then Sean licked along the shaft, up to its flare, and let his tongue run across the crown. Sean was smiling.

"Fuck," Elijah muttered, and pulled away, tugging and turning Sean until they were sprawled diagonally on the bed, both face-to-cock.

Sean felt drunk on the warm smell of him, tasting as the first thick drops begin to leak. He got an elbow under himself again, trying for an angle that would let him push the head of Elijah's cock into his throat, but Elijah was taking matters into his own hands again. Elijah pushed Sean back so that Elijah was supported above him on knees and elbows, and Sean couldn't move; didn't want to, because Elijah was achieving a stunning synchronization of hips, fucking Sean's mouth, his own mouth and tongue scorching and slippery on Sean's cock.

Sean moaned, his legs falling open, his hips moving a little, involuntarily. Everything was blending and blurring. He felt intense elation, felt smothered and engulfed in Elijah. The rest of the world vanished. It was overwhelming -- Elijah filling his mouth, Elijah's mouth hot around him. Sean's climax tightened and gathered and rolled toward him. It was like waiting for lightning to strike. His last real decision was moving his hands to Elijah's ass and squeezing, and then his mouth went slack and he tensed and shuddered and came, moaning and recoiling from the intensity of Elijah's sucking, his tongue soft and blanketing.

Sean was vaguely aware, after a minute or so, of Elijah's face, pillowed in the crease of his thigh, nuzzling his balls, as Elijah's hips moved again, invitingly or perhaps demandingly, Sean didn't know. Elijah was harder than ever, hot and thick and wet in his mouth. Sean had just enough motor control to wrap his fingers around the root of Elijah's cock and firm up his lips again, and Elijah, with a strangled cry, stroked into his mouth a half a dozen more times and then tensed. It was bitter, more bitter than Sean expected, but he petted Elijah's thighs as he swallowed. Then Elijah was moving again, bringing his face back up to Sean's and holding him close. Sean could feel Elijah's heart pounding. He kissed along his jaw, and put one kiss on the pulse point just underneath. Then his head fell back on the bedspread. Drifting, Sean felt Elijah stir and move away.

"Baby," he said, feeling oddly bereft.

"Cigarette," Elijah said apologetically.

"Stay here," Sean said, gripping Elijah's forearm and preventing him from sliding off the bed and standing up.

"You sure," Elijah said, and Sean lifted his head and caught his breath at how his lover's bruised mouth looked, lips redder than Sean had ever seen them. Elijah's collar bones and cheeks were still stained pink. Sean nodded.

"They're in my jacket," Elijah said, and squeezed Sean's arm. Sean let him go. He lay on the rumpled bedspread for a minute, then pulled the pillows out and propped them on the headboard. He didn't cover up, which made him wonder at himself. The Sean of reshoots would have crawled under the blankets.

Elijah stood in the doorway, naked, holding his cigarette, looking at Sean. Sean held out his hand and he came and climbed on the bed to recline beside him. Sean watched his profile as he smoked about half the cigarette, then put it out in the ashtray on the nightstand. He turned to Sean, who cupped his cheek, looking into his eyes, frowning a little.

That open, disarmed look was back -- the look that Sean would have crawled on broken glass to see again. There was only one thing to say.

"I love you, Elijah. I won't leave you again."

Elijah hid his face against Sean's neck.

"Good," he said.

They sprawled there in the stillness, their bodies cooling, Sean cradling Elijah's head in his arms. Elijah gently kissed his collarbone. Sean sighed, feeling Elijah's fingers against his hip. It was odd, he thought, how he felt so little self-consciousness, being here, naked, close to Elijah again. It just felt ... sweet. Comfortable. He tightened his arms and Elijah grunted, sliding down the bed to lie on his back, still pressed against Sean. Sean remembered the champagne, and he got up and went into the living room to collect the bottle and glasses. He looked at the stereo, thinking vaguely of classical music, but it would have taken too long to decipher the remotes and the lcd's. He walked around to Elijah's side of the bed and poured the last of the champagne into their two flutes.

"I'm afraid it's pretty warm now, but it's still good," Sean said. He stood there and drank, watching Elijah's stomach muscles clench as he reached for his glass and leaned back with it. Sean looked, just simple enjoyment of the contrast of dark hair with the pale and richly pink skin of Elijah's naked body. He could still taste Elijah's come; the champagne blended with it and didn't wash it away. He drained his glass and sat down on the small strip of bed next to Elijah's legs. He ran his hand slowly all the way up, as far as he could reach, smoothing over Elijah's ticklish knee, along his tattooed hip, up his ribs. He noticed he had left a red mark on the tattoo and he smiled. His gaze traveled across Elijah's shoulders and up, caught by Elijah's glance, direct and calm now.

"All your labels still attached?" Elijah said.

"I think I'm getting gayer by the minute," Sean said, and leaned forward and kissed him. He felt Elijah reach to put his empty glass down and registered that the glass clunked and fell sideways, but he was too busy kissing to care.

Sean was awash in happiness, in a feeling of "rightness" so intense that it felt like vindication. _This is what I want. This is; he is,_ he thought. He knew Elijah kidded him about needing labels, and he did -- his mind did, but this happiness went way beyond that organizing, security-seeking mind. This delight wasn't something manageable. _It_ contained _him._ Elijah's arms were around his neck, his hands resting on Sean's shoulders. They kissed; sloppily, connecting open-mouthed, exploring, almost-biting. Sean stopped to breathe, eyes closed, resting his forehead against Elijah's.

"I love you so much," he said, and Elijah's arms tightened. "I don't want you to start to worry. I'm not going to run away again. I'm done with all that."

"You know this feels too good to be true."

"Yeah, I know."

"I think it is true, though. I can tell you're all right." Elijah pulled his hands in and cradled Sean's face, holding Sean still and looking intently at him. "You're just so comfortable. You're just ... you." He smiled, his mouth tentative even though his eyes were sparkling, and Sean's heart expanded yet again. Sean kissed him, then pulled back to look. He couldn't get enough of seeing Elijah happy, present and accounted for. He had had to hide from Sean for far too long.

"I know it's too soon to make plans, but what it all amounts to, for me, is this: I want to be with you. I'll come to you here, you can move back; whatever. But my whole goal starting when I get back to LA is to take all the steps I have to take so that we can be together. You get that, don't you?"

"I get it, Sean," Elijah said softly, and he looked a little amazed despite his agreement. He exhaled, long and breathy, and leaned back on the pillows. "I want it to be all right. I'm still ... afraid, I guess."

Sean frowned and put a hand on Elijah's chest. Part of him was engaged in the conversation -- so overdue, so important -- but part of him was highly distracted by Elijah's skin, and the miraculous fact of his permission, now, to touch any way he liked. It was incredible. He knew that pretty soon he would want to stop talking and explore again. But he also wanted to listen.

"Baby, tell me. Of what?"

Elijah covered Sean's hand with his own. "It's just, all so big and serious. It's like I have to step up to the plate to be with you -- I love you, and you don't mess around, Sean. This is gonna be divorce, custody stuff, maybe buying houses, we'll have an ex-wife. It's complicated already."

Sean nodded. "It's gonna be all right." He leaned in and they hugged. "It's so funny -- for once I have absolutely no doubt that it's all going to be all right. I'm not saying it will be easy, but we can make this work."

Elijah stroked the back of his head. "I've never loved anyone as much as I love you. It does make a person brave... or crazy. Not sure which."

Sean said, his mouth against Elijah's neck, "Thank you for starting this. Thank you for taking that risk.

"Oh, Sean..." Elijah pushed at his cheek and claimed his mouth again for a long kiss, and this time it went straight to hot and deep. Sean pulled his lips away just long enough to whisper, "Let me have you again, can I?"

"Oh, god," Elijah gasped.

"Can I fuck you again, baby? I want to so much."

"Over there," Elijah managed to say. "Top drawer." Elijah's eyes followed him as he went to the bureau and found the lube and the rubbers.

When Sean lay down, he covered Elijah's body with his own, pushing against him, hard again already. He loved the feeling of Elijah's slender strength under him. Then he edged to one side, fitting Elijah's erection into his hand, lazily stroking it, watching how it hardened and swelled even more under his fingers. Elijah bent a knee, inviting, and Sean's fingers stroked and explored the crinkled skin of his balls, then drifted lower. So familiar, so exotic. _So beautiful,_ Sean thought again.

"Oh, god, that's good," Elijah murmured as Sean stroked along his ass. "I can't believe this is happening."

"That's just what you said back in Wellington," Sean chuckled, opening the lube. He marveled that he wasn't a bit hesitant. Only eager. Only incredibly fucking turned on.

_Definitely gayer by the minute,_ he thought, as he pushed a finger into warmth and tightness, making Elijah jerk and say again, "Oh god." Sean wanted to take his time, wanted to see how much he could make Elijah want it. He shifted to kneel between Elijah's legs and put his other hand on Elijah's cock, pushing in and pulling out that one finger until Elijah said, "More. Please." So that meant two. Both Elijah's knees were up now, so that he could gently push back against Sean's hand. His eyes were closed, one hand twitching and clutching at nothing, the other tight around Sean's knee. Sean continued the same slow stroking for awhile, loving how a flush crept along Elijah's collar bones; how his cheeks pinked and his muscles tensed all over. When Elijah started to whimper on each pushing-in, Sean couldn't stand it any more. He took his hand off Elijah's cock to fumble around and find the strip of condoms, and then he looked into Elijah's heavy-lidded, deep eyes as he slowly pulled his other hand away. Elijah shivered, and sat up and took the packages away from him. He tore one open and put the condom on Sean by touch, his gaze never leaving Sean's. Then a small, wicked smile curled his mouth and he turned around and got to his hands and knees, looking at Sean over his shoulder.

"Oh fuck," Sean gasped, and had to close his eyes for a second.

"Exactly," Elijah purred.

Sean managed to somehow deal with the lube, and then, _So right,_ he thought. Fiercely, crashingly perfect, and everything disappeared but the joining of their bodies: the smoothly easing resistance of Elijah; the swollen pulse of Sean's cock. It was hard to hold back the instinct to slam into him, but Sean did, his gasps echoing Elijah's.

"Wait," Elijah managed to say when Sean was all the way in him, and Sean looked at his gleaming back; the smooth pattern of muscles, the indentation of his spine, the way his lower back curved into his ass. He tightened his fingers into the muscles of Elijah's hips.

"Beautiful," Sean said, and gasps turned to moans as Elijah started to rock. Sean was still for a minute, holding on, letting Elijah do it all, dropping his chin to watch, the blood roaring in his head. Then Elijah pleaded, "Sean," and Sean settled his weight back just a bit and put all the work he had done on his abs and quadriceps to its best use of all. It was deep and pounding, and Elijah grabbed two handfuls of mattress and pushed back just as hard.

Coming shocked Sean with its suddenness, like an elevator floor dropping from under his feet, and he cried out Elijah's name and bent forward over his back. Not even pausing to catch his breath, he pushed at Elijah's hips, easing their bodies apart, and Elijah flopped onto his back. Sean fell onto one elbow, his other hand finding the wet crown of Elijah' cock while his mouth covered Elijah's. Almost immediately, Elijah's hands clamped down on Sean's arms and he moaned into Sean's mouth, and Sean felt the hot sticky jet of Elijah' come on his hand and on his ribs. Sean's head sagged against Elijah's collarbone and he sprawled, boneless, half over him.

"Oh, my god," Sean said. He lay there as Elijah's breathing caught and caught and slowed. Sean raised his head. Elijah's eyes were closed, but Sean could see the sparkling wet line along each arc of black lashes. He put his lips to one and tasted warm salt. Elijah's hands clutched at his arms again. Sean put his head down next to Elijah's, and pulled him close.

Elijah swallowed hard and said, his voice shaking, "You said 'thank you for starting this.' I want -- I hope you feel that; I want to make you not regret all this."

"How could I regret it? There is no way." Sean felt a jolt of fierce, almost protective, love for this reckless, incredible young man. He raised up and looked into Elijah's face. "Hey," he said, and Elijah opened his eyes, dislodging a tear. "Hey," Sean said. "This is happening," and Elijah smiled.

Sean kissed the track of the tear, then laid small quick kisses on both of Elijah's eyes, loving the tickle of his eyelashes against Sean's lips. He felt Elijah sigh raggedly, and felt his hand petting down Sean's back. Sean leaned back, smiling, and Elijah smiled up into his eyes.

Finally Elijah said, "Let's take a shower, all right?"

Sean nodded and said gravely, "Gay sex is very messy."

Elijah burst out laughing and pushed Sean away and got up, clutching his stomach. "You remember that awful movie, _Steel Magnolias_," he said, leading the way to the bathroom.

"Yeah," Sean said, watching his ass, "I remember it mostly because of Dukakis' sister."

"Well, that's how I feel tonight: Laughing, crying, laughing, crying. You're gonna kill me." He was turning on the hot water tap and waiting, one hand in the stream, one hand bunched in the shower curtain. Sean couldn't stop looking even as he peeled off his condom and found the wastebasket beside the toilet.

"Die happy," Sean said, feeling as if he could.

"Very," Elijah said, grinning, and once again Sean felt shimmering joy and pride that he could bring that brightness back into Elijah's eyes. He willed the memory of Elijah's expression to be carved sharply and clear, because he knew he would need it to get through what he was going to have to do as soon as he got back to Los Angeles. He put the knowledge aside. Tonight was not over yet; why leave the moment?

"You know," Elijah said, "what we need is some music." He left, and Sean climbed under the hot water, stepping over the tall lip of the old-fashioned tub. In a minute Sean felt rather than heard a bassline start, under the waterfall sound of the shower, and wondered what Elijah had chosen -- something to please himself, or one of the few genres they both liked? Elijah climbed in with him and folded him close.

"Mm," Elijah said. "I'm fucking telling you, I can't believe this is true. I would not let myself want it too much. I would not let myself believe in it. And now it's true."

"I'm so sorry," Sean said. "I'm sorry it's been so hard."

"Oh, shut up. I think it will get even harder soon. But we'll be like Scarlett and not think about that now, right?"

"Ooo, you said 'harder,' " Sean answered, rubbing with his hips and nuzzling Elijah's dripping face.

"I did, didn't I?" Elijah kissed him, cupping his jaw, turning them both so that the water coursed down Sean's back. Sean laid his arms across Elijah's shoulders and leaned on him, opening to Elijah's tongue, loving the feeling of being controlled, of Elijah kissing him any way Elijah wanted. After a long time, he could feel Elijah smiling. They were both hard again, their cocks trapped between their stomachs. Elijah stepped back a half pace and Sean stared at him, his eyes soft and stunned. Elijah snagged a bottle of liquid soap out of the chrome rack behind him and worked some of it between his hands. He rubbed his bubbly palms across Sean's chest.

"I love what you've done to yourself. I mean, I loved Sam, too, but I know what a project this has been for you, and you fucking look great."

"Got to be ready for my next nude scene," Sean murmured, barely knowing what he said, his eyes closed, feeling Elijah's hands track across his chest and abdomen. Elijah lifted Sean's arms onto his own shoulders and washed under them, then pushed at Sean's waist to get him to turn around.

"That would be tonight, right here, with me," Elijah said, getting more soap and scrubbing Sean's back. "You were perving on me during Cirith Ungol, weren't you. Admit it."

"Of course. I just didn't know it at the time."

"I knew you had a thing for guys with scars."

Sean snickered, but the snicker was cut off and transformed into a gasp, because Elijah went from washing his buttocks to methodically and matter-of-factly spreading soap everywhere -- between Sean's legs, up the cleft, reaching around to circle his hands over Sean's fast-tightening balls and his rigid cock.

Sean braced himself against the tile wall and spread his feet further apart. He heard Elijah's throaty chuckle and Elijah slithered around and pressed against Sean's side, so that he could continue jerking him while he rubbed the slippery side of his palm over Sean's asshole.

"Fuck," Sean said. Elijah kept chuckling, and then he said, "Mmm," again.

"Oh man, you'd better quit unless this is where you want to finish tonight."

Elijah laughed, but slowed his hands, allowing Sean to open his eyes. "What, three's your limit? You senior citizen."

Sean growled at him and Elijah relented and let go and let him rinse off. Elijah leaned back against the end wall, and Sean could see that Elijah was letting his eyes travel up and down Sean's body. It pleased him and made him blush. Sean wiped the water out of his eyes and held his hand out for the soap bottle. Sean guided Elijah back under the water and then out of it, slowly, as if they were dancing. He worked up a generous handful of lather and knelt, his hands reaching around to wash Elijah's backside, smiling at the closeup his position gave him of Elijah's half-mast erection. Elijah put one shoulder against the wall and Sean felt him relax.

Sean slowly and gently worked his hands between Elijah's legs, noticing, with a stab of new desire, how open and engorged he still was after their sex. It made Sean marvel -- he was doing this, he was feeling this want, this reveling in the body of another man. He leaned his cheek against the sharp point of Elijah's hip bone.

"Do you always ... bottom? Is that the word?" Sean asked. Elijah didn't answer immediately, and Sean looked up, wondering if this was something too private to ask, but when he saw Elijah's face he knew it was all right. All pretense, all control were laid aside. Elijah was staring down at him, looking aroused and amused and thoughtful, all at once. Sean caught his breath at how beautiful he was, the water clinging to his eyelashes, his skin pink from the heat, the long sideburns and the trace of a beard highlighting his strongly proportioned jaw.

His smile widening, Elijah replied, "Usually. But not always."

Holding that gaze, Sean pushed himself to his feet and moved out of the way so that Elijah could rinse. He trailed a hand down Elijah's back, watching the water stream off his shoulders. Elijah bent and turned off the taps, and then Sean could hear the music: something strangely arrhythmic and cross cultural, with a strong rock-and-roll bassline covered by exotic instruments. Sean was sure he would never recognize the name of the band, or ever hear it on any LA radio station. Without looking around Elijah stepped out and got them some towels -- new, white, fluffy and huge. Wrapped in one, Sean followed him back into the bedroom. Sean noticed there were speakers in the bedroom, too. Elijah let his towel drop, and stripped the stained bedspread off, letting it fall on the floor. He turned and grinned evilly at Sean. He patted a little water off Sean's chest with a corner of Sean's towel and then pushed him onto the bed, pulling the towel away.

"Uh oh," Sean said, grinning, as he fell onto his back. Elijah climbed on top of him and began kissing his collarbones and neck, his mouth shockingly hot to Sean's damp, cool skin. Sean moaned, his hands finding Elijah's hips, lust curling into his guts again as he felt Elijah's cock bob against his groin and his mouth find one of Sean's nipples. He jerked and gasped as he felt Elijah's teeth, then Elijah soothed with his tongue and sucked hard. Sean moaned.

"Ooo, you like that. Noted."

Sean tried to laugh but he was too out of breath. His hands vaguely petted along Elijah's hips and spine as Elijah curled down to attack his other nipple, sucking and nibbling. Sean was hard again, hard and thrumming, and secretly so happy that whatever Elijah was going to do with him, he would probably be able to last a while, after coming twice already tonight. His chest heaved with the big breaths he was gulping. Elijah sat up suddenly, kneeling over him, and Sean opened his eyes, needing to look. It took all his attention to breathe and listen as Elijah pinched the nipple he had just been kissing and gathered both their cocks into his other hand, squeezing softly.

"It's such a trip, knowing I get to show you all this... I mean, that was the first blow job you ever gave, right?" He leaned down, as Sean nodded, and kissed him, still grinning. Sean was awash in sensation, trying to watch and listen and concentrate, but sight and hearing were swamped in the feeling of Elijah's hand on his cock, the yielding warmth of Elijah's cock being pressed against his. He knew he had to be leaking, and, as if he could read Sean's thought, Elijah swirled his fingers around the damp head of Sean's cock and then tasted what he found, still squeezing their erections together. Another groan escaped Sean as he watched Elijah lick his own fingers, his eyes heavy-lidded, two spots of pink high on his cheeks.

"I'm loving this, you know? I'm just so fucking glad...." Elijah let go of their cocks and slid to one side. He bent his head to run his cheek along Sean's shaft, and then without warning slid it all the way into his mouth. Sean arched -- he couldn't help it.

"Elijah!"

His laugh vibrated up and down the length of him, tickling his balls, and Elijah cupped a warm palm around them and then lingered over pulling away. The evil grin was back when he looked up.

"If you're okay with this," Elijah whispered, "turn over." He pushed against Sean's hip, encouraging. A hot/cold bolt traveled from Sean's balls upward, a thrilling stab of excitement that might have been mixed with fear.

"Oh god," he said, but he turned immediately, grabbing a pillow and pulling it under his chin. He had to reach down and get his cock to a comfortable angle, and he felt Elijah's warm hands on his cheeks. "God," he said again.

"Just talk to me, just tell me..." Elijah murmured, and Sean was glad his face was hidden so that Elijah couldn't see the blush that started as Elijah pushed gently on his thigh, urging Sean to spread his legs just a bit. He did, and it made more room for his cock, which was good, and he tried to breathe, feeling exposed, feeling a whole different tenor of turned on. This was being had, being taken. He wasn't sure exactly what Elijah was going to do first, but he was sure that the goal, now, was Elijah fucking Sean, and he found he was completely willing for that to happen. He smeared his face into the pillow and waited. What he felt was ticklish kisses down his spine, and he giggled, but then gasped, because Elijah kept right on going until he was kissing Sean's ass, and then his wet hot tongue came out and gently pushed.

"God," Sean managed to squeak. "No wonder you wanted a shower." Elijah chuckled, low in his throat, and worked his tongue into Sean's hole. Sean found he was panting, straining, pushing himself toward Elijah's mouth, his weight going onto his extended knee, his cock so hard it hurt. It felt damp and warm, and exquisitely tender and incredible and how had he not known about this? How had he gotten to the advanced age of thirty-one without knowing about this?

"Lij...it's good. Christ, it's so good."

His hands were squeezing Sean's hipbones and he kept it up, pushing in as far as he could with his tongue, then pushing sideways against the edges of the opening, sensation sparkling and snapping along Sean's nerves. He gathered the pillow under his chest, feeling sweat bead on his forehead and temples.

"Mmm," Elijah said, and with a last lick he pulled away, and another thrill ran through Sean because he figured something involving lube and fingers would be next. He craned his head to see what Elijah was doing, and reached awkwardly down with one hand to pat whatever of Elijah's anatomy he could reach. The lube had ended up on the floor and Elijah had to stretch for it. He cupped a blob of it in his palm, and then scooted forward and kissed Sean's mouth, the angle awkward. He moved, and Sean put his face down again, but instead of the touch of Elijah's fingers, he felt his lover's body blanket him, felt Elijah's erection fitting warmly between his buttocks, and Elijah squirmed against him for a moment before pulling away again.

"So fucking gorgeous," he heard Elijah murmur, and he exhaled, because then he felt it, the slow easy slide of Elijah's finger, setting off new chain reactions of arousal. _So different_ \-- the words formed in his mind, but his thoughts were fragmenting. He was so hard, yet he was feeling so much that had nothing to do with his dick. It was disorienting. He must have moaned as he tried to breathe, because Elijah said, "Okay, baby?" His tone was so gentle and velvety that it brought tears to Sean's eyes.

"Yeah," he was able to say.

"What I really want to do is blow you while I touch you like this. But that can be for next time," Elijah said, still in that velvety voice, and Sean groaned again. Without his knowledge or participation, his body had tuned in to the rhythm Elijah had established. His hips were rocking slightly against Elijah's hand, and he found he was clutching the edge of bed. A stretch, then, and an almost-pain that quickly transformed itself into a red and blinding pleasure.

"Okay?"

"God, yes."

Open, he was open, and he could certainly see now what it would be like to be fucked this way, to be filled and stretched, and he knew his face was red and his cock felt like it would burst, and it was still just two fingers.

"Oh, Elijah."

"I just -- I want you to be ready -- there -- because I'm not as thick as you are, but it's bound to hurt some, at first... breathe out, baby, that's it. Oh, yeah." Elijah was breathless.

Sean was dizzy with the sensations, and found himself reaching for his own dick and then stopping himself, trying to be content with the rocking of his hips and the friction of the blanket. If he touched himself now he would certainly come too soon. Christ. How could it hurt so good like that....how could it...

"I didn't know -- Christ, Elijah. Oh my god."

Elijah fingers slowly withdrew, and Sean kept panting, amazed and wanting. He heard the crinkle of foil and the slurping sound of lube against skin, and felt Elijah's fingers again, making his ass slippery, adding more of the gel.

"Oh, god, Sean, you're beautiful. Just breathe, baby. Don't let me hurt you."

Elijah hitched Sean's hips a little higher, and Sean heard him muttering, "Fuck, fuck fuck," and then felt the solid, hot press and stretch. Yeah, it hurt, but Sean didn't fucking care, and he dug his fingers into the blankets and tried to breathe and spit out curses. He was hot all over. His body felt incandescent. He felt his heartbeat in his own lips. Elijah hesitated.

"Is it all right, baby?"

"Go on," Sean gasped, and then Elijah was all the way inside. "Christ," Sean said.

"Oh man, oh fuck," from Elijah, and then a slow, slow movement deeper, if that were possible, and then back almost all the way. Sean was lost, drugged. It was slow, slow, and exquisite, and he realized the broken sounds he was hearing were his own. "Baby, baby," Elijah was repeating, and Sean could feel the skin of Elijah's thighs press against him and peel away, and the elusive tickle of his curling pubic hair. Sean tried to hang on, felt his hands slipping as he slid inexorably down a cliff of intense sensation. He didn't want to come yet. Not yet.

Sean said, "I want -- I want to see your face; can we..."

"Mm," was his answer, and Elijah withdrew. Sean rolled over with a sense of emerging, of coming to, and Elijah was fucking _gleaming_ at him, twinkling like a star. They were both panting and flushed.

"Can you hold your knees out, with your elbows? Like that; yeah... Tilt up for me, just a little more...Oh, yeah, Jesus...."

Elijah's eyes were stabbing him, seeing into his soul. Elijah shifted his arms, leaning harder into Sean, as he could tell from how Sean was relaxing into it that it was all right. His eyes closed as his face came close enough to Sean's to kiss him.

"You're gonna be so sore tomorrow," Elijah murmured, and then he was kissing Sean, kissing him and thrusting into him, pressing against him at the end of each slow, gentle stroke, and then Elijah hitched and changed the angle somehow and the next push jolted something beautifully sideways inside Sean, and he groaned. It all crashed together then, Elijah murmuring, licking his mouth, the center of him melting and exploding at the same time, like something in a Dali painting. Then Elijah was pressing down, Sean's cock was getting some friction, and Sean cried out and came, disappearing, fading to black.

He came to again in seconds, feeling Elijah's weight on him, his hips still rocking, sweat coating them both, smelling the soap and the musk of himself, his ass and his own come, and then Elijah was whimpering into his neck and he could feel him pulsing to his own finish.

Sean brought his arms around Elijah's back and started to swallow the tears he felt in his throat, then smiled instead and let them spill.

"I love you," Elijah whispered, and Sean could feel how his heart was pounding.

"Thank you," Sean said, and he didn't care at all that Elijah could hear the tears in his voice. "For everything... And what the fuck is that music, anyway?"

~~~

_V -- Los Angeles_

Sean got up slowly from the floor by Ally's bed and realized one of his feet was asleep. He jiggled it gently, standing and watching her while the tingly pain invaded his muscles and then slowly passed. Earlier, Liz had fallen asleep in his lap and had been tucked into bed, boneless and sticky, with her "I (heart) NY MORE THAN EVER" white teddy bear, identical to the one now sharing the bed with Ally. After the flurry of his homecoming and a couple of business-related phone calls that could not wait, they had all settled in to eat popcorn and watch _Beauty and Beast_ for approximately the seventy-third time. When Sean had tucked Ally in, she told him what she had been doing for the ten days that he had been gone, her words slowing and slurring until she fell asleep in mid-sentence.

Limping slightly, he went down the stairs and found Chris in the small den. He sighed, mentally reviewing the words he had tried to compose on the plane. She was sorting and putting back in boxes the videotapes and dvds that always seemed to pile up on top of and next to the big television, escaping from shelves and drawers.

"Hey," he said, and she turned around and smiled at him. He sat on the edge of the couch and put his elbows on his knees.

"It's so quiet after they go to bed; it still surprises me," she said, looking for the box for "Finding Nemo."

"Chris."

"What? ... What is it, Sean?"

"I have to tell you something, and it's not good."

~~~

The air smelled different in the blue guest room. The sheets were oddly stiff and new; they smelled a little dusty. The light came from a different place and the ceiling was lower. He could plainly hear the air conditioner condensers from in here; a fretful whir that woke him up twice as he tried his best to doze off. Tired as he was, his mind would not let him easily fall asleep. He had never slept in this room in the almost five years they had lived in this house. He counted up: the last person who had slept in here was probably his youngest brother.

He turned over and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes.

_...Inside their cab at Kennedy; Elijah's assistant conferring with the American Airlines rep just outside. He had pressed his lips against Elijah's one last brief time._

"I'll call you as soon as I can; it probably won't be tonight. Don't worry, though. Promise me you won't worry."

"You utter fuckhead, of course I'm going to worry."

"But just don't worry about us, okay? You can worry about me, but don't worry about us."

"That's what I meant."

...The shock of hugging his girls, scooping them up at the LA airport. That hyper-awareness -- seeing everything, feeling everything, like being outdoors in the too-bright light of a New Zealand Christmas. They were his girls, they had each grown an inch, they were loud and demanding and very glad to see him. Without them even knowing, he had become someone else, someone he hoped they would still approve of. It tore at his heart, but holding them prevented him from hugging Chris until they were all in the car, and for that, he found, he was grateful.

...Elijah snored if he lay too long on his back. Sean had found this hilarious. He had thought he would cling to Elijah in the night, but even if they fell asleep like that, stuck together, they woke up in the morning back to back, not touching.

...Elijah still drank his coffee black and would eat the most awful kiddy cereal for breakfast, or even those fucking pop tarts, shamefaced but adamant. Sean had had to wait until he was done and then had dragged him out in the rain to find bagels and lox.

...Earlier tonight. The long, scorching pause, and then she frowned and said to him, "It's him, isn't it? It's him." He wondered how much her tears would have hurt him, but this deadly calm was bad enough.

...Drowsy, finally settled again in Elijah's bed that first night in New York, when they had drunk the champagne. Elijah had drawn Sean's head to his shoulder. "How do you feel?" Elijah had asked him, and Sean had smiled and said, "Used." And yes, he had been very sore the next day, but they had walked around the city anyway, grinning like teenagers until they were drawn relentlessly back into bed.

Sean used every relaxation and meditation trick he knew to finally ambush himself into falling asleep. His mind kept catching on the idea that, now that he was in the guest room, he could quietly go get his phone and call Elijah. He knew with eerie certainty that Elijah was still awake, and he was almost certain that Elijah would have stayed in the apartment and not gone out. Certainly no further than Hannah's place on the floor below. Sean would not have been prepared to explain just how he knew this, but he did.

He slept, finally, and he slept harder than he expected to, because when he woke up, Chris was in bed with him, sound asleep. She molded against his back like always, wearing her favorite oversized t-shirt, one arm around his waist. He had not even stirred when she had slipped in with him. When barely awake, he registered her familiar presence, and for a minute he thought they must be in a hotel. Then the memory of where he was and how off-center everything had become jolted him, and his entire body flinched, coming fully awake between one eyeblink and the next. Nothing familiar now. Nothing the same. His heart raced, then slowed.

He eased out from under her arm and went down the hall to shower and dress. He would take Ally to school. He and Chris hadn't discussed it the night before, but he would do it. He glanced at the clock. It was only six. He was relieved that he had awakened before Chris did.

~~~

Sitting in his Cherokee at 8:30, a block from Ally's school, he pulled out his cell and called Elijah.

"Yeah," he heard, and the voice was thick with sleep. Sean's heart melted and he leaned his head back on the headrest in relief, listening to the open line and the sound of bedclothes being pushed aside.

"It's me."

"Yeah, it had to be you. And."

"I'm okay. It's gonna be okay, baby."

"Just tell me what happened."

"I waited until the girls went to sleep last night and I told her I couldn't be married to her any more."

"What did she do?"

"She was shocked. She was very calm, but she was shocked. But, baby, she knew right away what it was. I never told her, but she knew."

"Fuck."

"I know. I know. I'm really not surprised, though. I mean, she's not a stupid person."

"What did she say?"

"She just thought for a while, after she wanted to know how long I'd been thinking about this and if I realized what I was doing, and then she just said, 'It's him, isn't it.' "

"Fuck."

"I know."

They were quiet for a minute. Sean closed his eyes and imagined Elijah, fumbling around in the bed where they had made love every possible way they could think of in those two incredible days and three incredible nights before he had to come back. He could see Elijah untangling himself from the sheets and that white bedspread, which, thank God, was bleachable, and wandering naked around the apartment, smoking. He hoped he would hear the coffee grinder, which would tell him Elijah was not so preoccupied, but he didn't hold out much hope of it.

"Listen," Sean said. "I'm really glad you're there. It's so hard to be away from you right now, but it will be better for you that you're there and not here."

"Well, I did something right, huh."

"Don't start that. You did everything right that you possibly could. Listen to me: I love you. I'm coming back as soon as I can, and I'll keep you posted. Now, what are you going to do today."

"Oh, I thought I'd wear black and have some vodka for breakfast, maybe get my navel pierced, do some Ecstasy. Go to that Armenian film festival and stay there till midnight. Wearing sunglasses."

Sean snorted. "Who can you call? Who can you talk to if you can't reach me?"

"You tell me.... No, look, I'm not going to fall apart, okay? Jesus. Give me some credit here."

"I know. Really, though, what are you doing today. Tell me."

"I honestly don't have a thing planned. I have to look at my email and call my agent and see. I'm sure there's something soon but I can't remember right now." Elijah's giggle made a smile bloom on Sean's face. "I mean, nobody's called me screaming, so I must not be late for anything yet."

Sean savored the laugh. He feared they would be all too rare for a while. He knew how Elijah felt. He hadn't wanted to emerge from their weekend cocoon, either. "All right. Look. I'm not sorry for anything. You know that. This has to happen now. I love you and I'm coming back out there just as soon as I can."

"I know, baby. And if you can't before we go back to Wellington, it's okay."

Sean sighed. Reshoots for _Return of the King_ were coming up in just a few weeks. He was going to be very glad to go, but so much remained to be settled. He desperately wanted to move out before then, but he wanted to give Chris a chance to take it all in. And when she really did come to terms with the fact that he was serious about divorcing her, he wasn't exactly sure what she would do.

"I'm gonna go home now, okay?"

"Where are you?"

"I just dropped Ally off at school. I love you, Elijah. Remember that."

"I will. I love you. Call me soon."

~~~

Chris was in the kitchen with Liz and with Laura, the nanny, when Sean got back. He ducked into his office and waited until he heard them all go outside, then he went in the kitchen and put together a bowl of fruit for himself and got some more coffee and went back in his office. He had a lot of email and regular mail to catch up on, and it comforted him to think of Elijah doing the same thing; sitting down at his computer with a cup of coffee, thousands of miles away.

_"Baby, are you going to be all right when you get back? No. What I mean is, how awful will it be? Really."_

They had been lying in bed. Sean had lost track of time that afternoon. It had somehow gotten dark. He had been overdosing on Elijah's body, learning the shape of it, the taste of every bit of it, memorizing it. He realized he was hungry and wondered if they'd missed two meals or one.

"Lij. It'll be awful. How could it be anything BUT awful?"

"...It was fairly awful when I had to break it off with Dom, but even that same night, I was pretty sure we would manage to still be friends.... This has to be so much worse. And Franka -- that was, like, nothing, compared to married with children."

"Don't make me talk about it, okay? I just have to take it one step at a time."

"Sean, I'm sorry. Shutting up." And Elijah had rolled over and very effectively distracted him.

Chris came in and sat down across from his computer table, and he spun his office chair around.

"Laura and Liz are swimming.... Sean, will you go to a therapist with me?"

"If you want to, I will. I really don't think I'm going to change my mind, though. I'm sorry."

"I just...." She folded her arms and looked down. "We could consider a separation. I can give you some time; we could --"

"I'm so sorry, but the thing is, time is not going to change how I feel. I've been thinking about this for a long time now. Months."

"I just don't understand," she said, and her face crumpled and she began to cry, sitting there, looking aside, and he thought about it for a minute and came over and knelt in front of her and hugged her. She clutched him, hiding her face in his shirt, sobbing.

~~~

"The therapist had me there for two sessions and dismissed me."

"Is it a man or a woman?"

"Does it matter?"

"It might."

"A woman. I liked her. She was smart."

"Sean." Elijah's tone said, _"I'm so sorry."_

"No, it's okay. Things are happening. Chris is going to keep seeing her. It's awful, it is, but the worst part was when Ally came up to me and asked me, 'What are you and mommy fighting about?' And there hasn't been any actual fighting, you know. She can just tell."

"Sean. Oh, Sean."

They were quiet.

"I was hoping to get her to the point where she could make some plans before reshoots, but I can see now that's not going to happen. She's still trying to deal with me and she can't accept that I just... don't want to. I don't fucking want to deal. I just want to go. It's over for me and I want to go."

"Whatever it takes, Sean. Don't worry about me. I'm okay."

"I hear Ally. I'll call you back later. She went out with her girlfriends; I was really glad she went; I hope she's talking to them."

"I love you, Sean."

"Love you."

~~~

She was pacing the living room and he was watching her, not sure they would make it to his departure for New Zealand without the blowup he had been both dreading and anticipating. He had decided it might be better, quicker for her, if she got mad at him. The girls were gone; his mother had taken them for a week. Sean had told Anna what he was doing and she was not happy, but she could tell his mind was made up. He was slowly, with as few explanations as possible, letting his friends and his family know he was getting ready to leave Chris. But he and Chris couldn't agree on what to say to Liz and Ally, so they had said nothing. Something else that needed to be handled before he went to New Zealand; he was certain.

"The thing that I just can't wrap my head around is how you could possibly be leaving me for Elijah Wood. That -- that is just so wrong. How long have you been sleeping with him?"

"Chris, I don't want to tell you any lies. But some stuff I just think is off limits. I've been very clear with you about him since I got back from New York, but I don't want to talk about it any more. It won't help to talk about him."

"Elijah Wood." She kept pacing. "You were with him. Then. You slept with him in New York, didn't you?"

"I don't want to talk about him. I'm saying I'm trying to do the right thing now and that I belong in the guest room."

"You were up there, letting me believe you were helping your buddy move in to his new place. And all the time you were --"

"Stop. Please."

She glared at him, but she stopped talking. She paced.

Sean went on, "I wanted us to agree on things, but I don't think we can. You still don't want me to go, but I have to." He got up and walked a little closer to her, but didn't touch her. "Chris, I'm not going to move back in when I come back from the reshoots. I'm going to find another place here in LA and I need to work something out with you about the girls. I don't want to fight with you. You have every right to be angry."

"Elijah Wood. A fucking 20-year-old boy! You're having an affair with Frodo!"

"Chris, no. That's enough."

"Maybe you should just leave tonight."

"Maybe I should. I could go and stay with Mac. But I didn't want to move out until you and I could talk to the girls together."

"Stay with Mac? Come on. Not get on the very next flight to Kennedy?"

"No, Chris. No."

~~~

Elijah picked up but Sean couldn't speak at first, and he couldn't really register what Elijah said, -- Hello, or Yeah, or Sean....something. It was late, as late as he had ever called, and Elijah had been asleep.

"Sean? Baby? Are you at Mac's, still?"

Deep breath. "No, I came home. I'll be home now until I leave for New Zealand.... Elijah. We told the girls tonight."

"Oh..... I wish I were there; I would hug you... Baby."

"I don't wish you were here. Chris would fucking.... No. It's just better that you're in New York for this part, Elijah, believe me."

"I know you're not telling me a lot and I just... I just love you, Sean. I'm here."

"I'm counting on it, Lij." He tried not to cry, because if he started he wasn't sure he could stop, but this time he couldn't hold back the tears. He sat there and cried for a long time and Elijah muttered comforting things. When the tears finally stopped they sat there some more, just listening to their shared silence.

~~~

_VI -- Wellington_

Sean was very glad that the reshoots for _King_ were so emotional for everyone that he pretty much could wander around with tears on his face all the time and nobody would think a thing about it. For heaven's sake, Peter and Viggo and even the fucking orcs were crying all the fucking time.

Late one night he and Elijah took Billy and Dom out to dinner and told them what was happening. Dom didn't say much -- just shook his head. Billy insisted he had seen it coming for years, and Sean, relieved that the conversation was going to stay in sarcastic jokes instead of veering to maudlin bonding, insisted that Billy had been holding out on him in terms of his special knowledge of Sean's secret queer identity. Then it devolved into riffing on super heroes with _very special powers_ and they all laughed until they cried and even Dom made some jokes. Sean was intensely grateful for Elijah's quick wits and how he seemed to effortlessly manage the conversation, batting back every quip and insult that the other two threw at them. Sean knew Elijah's performance was a least partly an act, but Elijah was confident and silly and defiant and he helped keep the conversation where Sean needed it to be, at least for now. _God. So much shit to hit the fan. Dom and Lij. The divorce. How we'll be together....Shit._ He felt he had truly taken on more than he could handle, and he put his hand on Elijah's leg and left it there for the rest of the meal, needing that reassurance of his lover's reality. He went back to the apartment and slept, insisting that Elijah go out to the bars they used to haunt with Dom and Billy -- like old times, when Sean had been here with his family. Elijah really didn't want to go, but he did, and later he said that Sean was right -- it had been what the three of them needed to do.

In breaks between takes that week, or sitting and watching other people's scenes, Sean had some much-needed time to think, to try to take in everything he and Elijah had set into motion. Their newly revealed relationship sent subtle ripples through the fabric of the entire fellowship -- such a tightly woven fabric! And Sean found he cared, a lot, that it would be all right for everyone.

He realized, all over again, how different they all were when they were together again, back here where their adventure had begun -- not just Elijah and him, but all of them. They could all just... give so much. More than he had ever given or received with any other group of people, even his own family. Maybe for him it was that way because of playing a hobbit -- such open-hearted, demonstrative people. That scene when Frodo wakes up and they're jumping on the bed in Minas Tirith? He was still convinced the way Peter was cutting the end of that scene was way over the top. The Mount Doom scenes were one thing, but all those lingering glances between Frodo and Sam? It was too much even for this movie, Sean thought privately. But, as it had turned out, all over again, life was imitating art. He shook his head for the tenth time over the series of strange events that had produced this real fellowship. And, he and Lij truly were Frodo and Sam. Still.

~~~

"Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.... Yes, I will always be your daddy. No matter what. Yes, I can talk to mommy." Elijah made this weird combination of gestures and pained expressions that Sean understood meant, _Do you want me to leave?_ and Sean shook his head.

"How are you?" Sean kept his voice carefully neutral. "... I'm so glad you've been thinking about it.... What did the lawyer say? .... Chris, I'm so happy. This is the best news I've gotten in a long time. It's for the best; I really think so. Thank you. Yes, I'll send all the information to Keith as soon as I sign the lease. It's been hard getting anything done, you know, being down here. ... And you got the check? ... Good. .... No. ....No! Don't ask me stuff like that. Let's just leave it at the news about the house? Okay? Let's leave it at that... Good night. Thanks again."

He looked at the phone for a minute and Elijah huffed out the breath he had been holding. It was rare that Sean let him listen in like that.

"How in the name of God can you manage to be so polite to her?"

"She is the injured party, after all," Sean said, still looking at the phone.

Elijah shook his head. After a minute, he tentatively asked, "Sounds like you got some good news?"

Sean looked at Elijah's cautious expression and a smile cracked through his stress. _God, this is the prize. This is what it's all for. God._ He slid along the sofa of their apartment and pulled Elijah close.

"I've been trying to talk her into this and she finally agreed. I guess she got enough objective advice that agreed with my position. I was trying to make her see that it's best for the girls if they don't have to move. So they'll stay at the house, and we'll trade coming and going instead of them. I know it will be awfully inconvenient for a while, but I have just got to do what's best for them right now. That has to be first; I know you know that."

"So she agreed to a joint schedule like that."

"Yes. She isn't mad enough to try to take them away from me, thank God."

"She's pretty mad, though."

"Well, of course."

"I know how I'd feel if I were her. I'd be furious."

"Elijah, I promise you, and I know that sounds really wacky because here I am breaking promises left and right, but I promise you, that will never happen." He crushed Elijah to him, stroking his back, then pulled back to look into his eyes. "Are you okay with this? It's a rotten time, right now, in the middle of _King_ and all that..."

"It's scary, Sean. You know it is. But I'm okay. It's just ... everything ... to be here with you now."

Sean held him close and loved -- loved -- the feeling of Elijah's arms tight around him. It held everything bad at bay. After a minute he went on, "Settling this about the girls and the house will really let us make some other decisions now. Some stuff will fall into place now. This is very good. We'll have to get back on the net and look at those houses again and decide which one we like, all right?"

The idea of finding a home in LA that would be _his and Elijah's home,_ even if it were part-time, even if it was just where Elijah crashed when he wasn't home in New York or shooting, made Sean shudder with relief and wonder. He had said it had to be step by step, but this was a big step. It was huge.

"Sean." Elijah tightened his arms around Sean, then slowly straightened up and looked into his eyes. Elijah looked resolute and a little scared, like he had to get something important off his chest. Sean felt a tiny wave of fear at what it might be, but he knew all he had to do was listen. He tightened his hands on Elijah's shoulders. "I'm not sure when the time will be right; you'll know, or I guess we'll have to figure that out together, but I've been thinking about it. And I want to move back to Los Angeles. Your girls are there and so you need to be there." He drew a deep breath. "_We_ need to be there."

Sean tightened his arms around Elijah again and very Sam-like tears welled up in his throat. _"We."... Christ, it's this place. Will I ever stop crying?_

"Yes, baby. Thank you."

Sean cried, and Elijah cried with him.

~~~

Outside of the four hobbits, no one had said much to them about the fact that they were inseparable in New Zealand, by day and by night. Everyone figured out after just a few days that Elijah was staying at Sean's apartment. No one even bothered to ask him if it was all right when they reassigned his. It had been empty and untouched; Elijah actually had never set foot in it. The location coordinators moved Orlando into it when he arrived.

Sean and Elijah were both looking forward to the reshoots of the Mount Doom scene: all those wonderful, moving lines about the taste of strawberries, and _"I **can** carry you."_ But they could not have predicted how exceptional their work would be that day. They knew as it was happening that they had both turned in performances that were as close to perfect as acting gets. It seemed a totally fitting conclusion to their work on _The Lord of the Rings._

Almost as soon as the reshoots and the farewell parties had wrapped, it was time to start talking to the media about _Return of the King._ San Diego was first.

Elijah would never say much about that mountain-top scene in interviews, deferring all questions about it to Sean. For Sean, it was a huge relief to get to talk so much about how much Elijah and Frodo meant to him, without giving a thing away. He almost laughed out loud about it -- this secret knowledge of his.

_"The most sacred acting experience I've ever had was on Mount Ruapehu with Elijah Wood in my arms."_

In the chaos of San Diego, no one noticed which beds went unslept in, or which rooms were empty of luggage. And no one noticed when Sam kissed and hugged Frodo every chance he got; even on stage.

~~~

_VII -- Stateside_

"I think Dom's all right. I mean, really all right." Elijah's voice was full of wonder. Their room was dark, but courtyard lights seeped under the drapes. The noise of partying Comicon fans came vaguely through the glass.

"I wasn't going to tell you, but he hugged me today and told me he would come after me and kill me if I failed to make you happy. Then he said he thought I was up to it, and he called me an ungrateful wanker at least three times."

"It's been great to be here with him."

"I wish Bill could have been here."

"I know..."

"I hate to go home tomorrow. I don't want this time to end. I love being with you."

"Soon. It will be soon."

~~~

Ally ran down the sidewalk of _her_ house toward her father's car, dragging her tiny suitcase on wheels. Sean followed more slowly with her bigger suitcase. He still couldn't quite believe that Chris had agreed to let Ally go to the premiere in Wellington with him and Elijah. It broke up Chris' schedule with Ally, and it meant changing the date of their tradeoff at the girls' home in January. They had agreed to catch up and get back on schedule in February.

They had agreed. It seemed a miracle. And even more miraculous: After the Oscar buzz died down, Elijah would be back here in LA permanently. Back here with him. Chris had agreed that he could come to the girls' home with Sean when it was Sean's turn. Sean had that in writing. Finally.

Sean looked back at Chris and Liz, who were waving goodbye to Ally. When he had asked Chris about the trip to the premiere, she had taken a deep breath and said it seemed reasonable; after all, Ally was in the movie, too. Why shouldn't she go to the most important premiere of all? With her daddy?

_Why not?_Sean thought. He waited until she climbed in the back seat of his SUV, and then made sure she had buckled her seat belt correctly. He looked back one more time as he drove away. Ally was chattering at him about souvenirs her mother had urged her to bring back for Lizzy from her big trip. Sean answered automatically. _It's happening,_ he thought for the millionth time. His fingers sought the spot where his ring used to be. It still felt naked, awkward, but he liked that. He wanted to feel its absence; wanted to be reminded of all the things that might lie ahead of him now. All the things that were different and new.

Then he punched his cell phone's speed dial, never taking his eyes off the road, and Elijah answered instantly.

"Sean."

"Hey. I've got Ally. We're on our way."

"See you when you get here, baby. I love you."

"I love you, Elijah. I'll see you... I'll see you at home."

~~~

_EPILOG -- Los Angeles_

Sean was not there to meet his plane. Elijah, confused but not yet worried, had his cell phone in his hand when he caught sight of Sean's assistant, beckoning him out of the lounge and to the stairs.

"Brian!" They shook hands and Elijah slapped his shoulder.

"Sean was going to come himself, but Lizzy's sick. I'll take that." He reached for Elijah's lone bag.

"Lizzy's sick? She must be really sick. No, I've got it, really."

"I don't think it's that serious, but he didn't want to leave her. That's all your luggage?"

"That's it. It was a short trip... You've got his Cherokee."

"Yeah; this time of day we thought we could get you away without too much fuss. How was London?"

They loaded Elijah's bag and themselves into Sean's Jeep, and joined the stream of traffic leaving LAX.

"London was hot and busy."

They chatted about the rehearsals and costume fittings, just concluded, for Elijah's next movie, which would start shooting in about two months now that all the preliminaries were over and the cast was settled. Brian took Elijah ... _home._ Alex and Lizzy's home, which was Sean and Elijah's home, too, half of the time. Brian had left his own little car there.

Elijah thanked him and, ever polite, said, "Do you want to come in for a minute?"

"No, I better go. But welcome back."

Elijah waved and bounded for the stairs. Since they were with the girls, it would not be anything like his homecoming after the last movie, or after _Illuminated,_ he thought, his lips curving in a secret smile. Last time, he had barely gotten the door closed behind them at the other house, before Sean was jerking his jeans down and shoving Elijah's cock into his mouth. Only Sean's practical, safety-conscious side had kept it from happening in traffic on the way from the airport. When they were apart, Elijah missed Sean desperately, and it was always nice to have the evidence that Sean felt the same. He turned before opening the door to make sure the driveway gate had closed again behind Brian. All secure. Sean must be rubbing off on him.

The house was quiet. He could hear the sound of a television in the back room. Ally was watching a kid's video, an empty plate with crumbs scattered on it next to her. She caught sight of Elijah and jumped up.

"You're back! I missed you so much!" He knelt and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I missed you too, sweetie." Elijah smiled and closed his eyes, smelling peanut butter and strawberry shampoo and grime. Definitely this homecoming was not a bit like last time. But it had its own appeal. Ally pulled away.

"Lizzy's really sick," she said, all serious. "I was sick before, and now she's sick."

"Let me go check on them, okay?"

"Okay."

He left her to her movie and climbed the stairs. He could drag his bag up later. Sean was in Lizzy's room, sitting by her on the bed, stroking her hair. He looked up when he heard Elijah's step, and his face was lit by his smile, but it faded as soon as he looked back at his sleeping daughter. Elijah went to him and pressed against his back, bending to kiss his cheek, and Sean got up, with a last caress of Lizzy's forehead. He pulled the door half closed behind them, and grabbed Elijah in a tight hug.

"God, it's good to see you," he whispered.

Elijah nudged his chin aside and kissed him -- two weeks' worth. It still hurt to be apart, healed him to be close to Sean. The kiss broke and they held each other, rocking a bit.

"How's Lizzy," Elijah whispered.

"Worrisome. If Ally hadn't had this same bug, I'd have taken her to the doctor already. And I may have to. She's finally resting. It's one of those weird spiky fevers; lasts about three days but scares the shit out of you. Ally threw up with it but so far Lizzy's not doing that."

"That's good," Elijah said, trying to come up with the right degree of worried in his expression. He tried not to lay it on Sean, but the whole parenting aspect of their relationship basically scared the shit out of him. He had slowly gotten comfortable with the idea of being home with the girls when Sean was not there. He leaned on the nanny, Laura, a lot, and was grateful that she seemed to have taken to him immediately. Sean had spent a lot of time and energy convincing his and Chris' former helpers to stick around. Some had taken more convincing than others, but Sean had told Elijah it was particularly important that they keep Laura. Elijah had been very glad that she had been easy to make friends with. He had so much to learn about life with kids. It wasn't that he didn't love Ally and Lizzy, but taking care of kids was something he had spent exactly zero time on until Sean. Living with kids, being a father, was something he had pretty much written off. He had really been sure he would never get married, never have any kids of his own. Now, he sometimes felt overwhelmed by the responsibility he felt. The endless need to extend himself, to help, to care for. It seemed to be second nature to Sean, but for Elijah, it was a stretch.

Elijah watched Sean's expression as he visibly tore his concentration away from Lizzy's condition and took in the fact that Elijah was home. He hugged Elijah again.

"God, it's good to see you," he repeated. "It's like I can breathe again when you're here."

"Baby," Elijah said, holding him. This was amazing. Here they were, together. Finally. It still gave Elijah moments of utter disbelief and wonder: That they had ridden the whitewater of change, of divorce, of Sean struggling with his own vision of himself, and won through to this. Elijah giggled. _This,_ right now, was one sick kid, one bored kid, one tired guy and one worried guy. Life was always weirder than anything you could have possibly imagined.

"What can I do?" he said.

"What time is it?"

"I don't know; I still think I'm in London. To me it feels like the middle of the night." Elijah let go of Sean and pulled out his cell phone. He had reset the time on the plane. "It's just now four."

"Why don't you order some pizza or something. I'm going to call the pediatrician."

"Plain cheese for the girls, right?"

"Very good," Sean said, smiling briefly before he turned for the stairs, already preoccupied again with Lizzy.

Elijah followed him into the kitchen, noticing how incredibly trashed it was. It was more like his own kitchen used to get, before he had moved back to L.A. to be with Sean. This house, or their own house in Santa Monica, rarely got this bad. Sean again. Sean was habitually neat, and with the cleaning people they had, the place was usually pretty close to spotless. The current mess made Elijah realize how accustomed he had gotten to Sean's habits, and how upset and busy Sean must really have been over the past weekend.

He looked at the refrigerator magnets to refresh his memory of the number for the pizza place they liked. Sean had pulled his Pilot out of his bag on the bar, shoving aside some of Ally's school papers to do it, and was looking through it for the doctor's number.

Elijah's call was done before Sean's, and he sat on a barstool, listening carefully as Sean waited on hold for a bit, then talked with the nurse on call about Lizzy's symptoms. Elijah yawned, and realized he was going to doze off where he sat if he didn't get up. He did, and looked around, thinking he should do something. He started throwing away accumulated bread crusts and empty cereal boxes. He started on the dishes that were in the sink, but found the dishwasher full of clean dishes. Sean hung up and looked at the phone for a few minutes.

"Sounds good?" Elijah said, breaking Sean's reverie.

"Yeah. You know the drill -- wait and see." Sean sighed. "Come on out here with Ally until the pizza gets here." He slung his arm around Elijah's waist and guided him back down the hall to the small den. "You know what I want to do to you, and if we're lucky, they'll both be asleep at the same time, later."

Elijah grinned and squeezed his butt. They sank down on the sofa beside Ally, Sean in the middle. She curled against Sean, her eyes glued to her movie, and Elijah curled up on his other side, still laughing to himself about the situation. Half his life was still the romantic, sexy, intense trip he had imagined ever since that crazy night in Wellington. The other half was a boring, intense, loud, crashingly beautiful experience of life with two little girls and their dad. It was very, very weird.

He satisfied himself, for now, with what he could get, leaning in against Sean, inhaling his scent, feeling his warmth. Sean grunted and tightened his arm around Elijah.

"I brought you some stuff from London, Ally," Elijah said, without moving. Sean snickered when she didn't answer.

Sean said, "You can't compete with _Aladdin,_ I'm afraid. It's like a trance they get into it. It's scary."

"No worse than me and PS2, I guess," Elijah said. He turned his head and nuzzled Sean's neck. "You must be as tired as I am. Have you been up in the night a lot?"

Sean nodded. "As soon as Ally got better, Lizzy got sick."

"Sucks," Elijah said, with feeling.

"Uuuummmm," Ally said, roused from her trance by the word that she was not allowed to use.

"Sorry," Elijah said, grinning.

"We'll give you your timeout later," Sean said. "For now, I think that's the pizza. You got any American money, there, ringboy?"

"They take plastic; I'm sure they do," Elijah said, getting up. He went down the hall to talk to the pizza driver over the security intercom, let him in, collect the boxes and pay. When he got back to the den, Sean was gone.

"Come on in the kitchen and have some pizza, honey," Elijah called to Ally, and that was enough to peel her away from _Aladdin._

"Guess what?" she asked Elijah. "Putting the dvd in the player is very hard."

"Oh, really?" He was looking in the fridge for something for her to drink. A beer looked very tempting. Should he? He would really get sleepy. Much too sleepy.

"Yes, you have to hold it just by the edges. Daddy showed me. Now I can do it all by myself. I am very careful."

She interrupted herself by taking a big bite of pizza. Elijah was sliding his own slices on a plate, and wondering if he should take some for Sean upstairs, and what Lizzy would be eating, if anything, when the house phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Elijah?"

"Oh, hi, Chris."

"You're back from London."

"Yes, I just got in, actually." When, he wondered, would he finally quite getting this cold jolt from his guts to his collarbones because of her. She was not mad, she was not giving him shit, she never did that any more. But it seemed that the instinct to fear her was still very much with him. He tried to listen even though blood was pounding in his ears.

"How's Lizzy?"

"I can get Sean... he's upstairs with her."

"No, it's okay, I have to go out, I just wanted to check before I left."

"Well," he said, hastily recalling Sean's conversation. "Her fever peaked last night at a hundred and three, and the nurse on call said that as long as she was eating and drinking and responding, not to worry. I think they're relying on the fact that Ally had the same thing and it only lasted three days."

"What's her temperature now?"

"Sean said it was ninety-nine two hours ago."

"Hmm."

"Oh, and he said it was responding to ibuprofen now."

"Okay. So he's not going to take her in?"

"I don't think so, not unless she takes a turn for the worse."

"Okay. Thanks, Elijah. I hope everything went well for you in London."

"Yes, thanks, Chris." He could tell she didn't really want to know. She was just being polite, and she had said she was on her way out.

They hung up, and he, in his turn, gazed at the phone. Warmth was pouring into his tired muscles, replacing his earlier shock at the sound of her voice. Sean's ex. His former friend. Liz and Ally's mom. He shook himself and looked around the cluttered kitchen, looked at the blonde-headed pixie sitting across the room from him at the table, a smear of tomato sauce on her face.

"I want another piece, Lijah," she said, fumbling for a paper napkin from the basket on the table. He got up and got her one, still musing. He heard Sean's step and turned around.

"That smells like heaven," Sean said. "Do they have alfredo sauce in heaven?"

"I was going to bring you up some. Is Lizzy awake? Would she eat any of this?"

"No, that's okay. She's still asleep, thank goodness. She may sleep into the night now. Her forehead was cooler."

"Chris called while you were upstairs."

"Oh," Sean said, looking at him with raised eyebrows and getting up to get the phone.

"No, it's okay. She said she was on her way out. You don't need to call her back."

"Well, I'm sure she wanted to know about Lizzy."

"I told her what you said... one hundred and three last night, ibuprofen, no need to take her in to the doctor yet... right?"

"Right." Sean was looking at him with an odd expression, part humor, part amazement.

Elijah said, "So, that's all. What?"

"You talked to her."

"Yeah."

Sean glanced at Ally and left it at that.

Hours later, in their bed, very glad that he had foregone the beer, Elijah let the towel from the hall bath slide to the floor. It had been Sean who dragged himself out of bed to grab the towel off a chair, and wipe them both up after a hasty but richly satisfying "welcome home" kind of grope. Elijah drifted in a warm haze, having enjoyed first Sean's hands on him, then the sleepy comforting rasp of the towel. For now, it was what he could get. And just being with Sean was the important thing. He rolled over onto his stomach and stretched, scrubbing his face into the pillow.

"I missed you, baby," he murmured.

"I missed you, too," Sean said. "This isn't all I want to do with you, not by a long shot, you know."

"Like you say -- life with children."

Sean yawned and snuggled closer to Elijah, putting his face against his lover's naked shoulder. They used one of the guest bedrooms at this house; though there was no word for what to call the room now. It was just their room, at the girls' house. Elijah thought, for the millionth time, how they were making up the rules as they went along. It was an odd and awkward arrangement, but getting easier, month by month. Chris had kept the master bedroom, her and Sean's old room, and that's where she stayed when it was her turn to live here. Elijah and Sean alternated with her -- a month here, a month at the other house, their new house. Chris had her own condo a couple of miles away.

At first it was strained. Chris had made it a point to put new deadbolts on the two bedroom doors, and she made sure to lock up the master suite, every time, when she was not there and Sean was. Elijah supposed she was making a point about keeping Sean out of her stuff, or her secrets. Things were still tense and awkward when Elijah had first moved back from New York. Chris' suite had stayed locked up when she wasn't there, and their little haven of a guest room did, too. Since then things had just slowly, carefully thawed. Everyone was concerned about the girls first, which helped, and time really did make a big difference. Elijah and Sean could joke that their "War of the Roses" phase in the Malibu house was coming to a close. Elijah was sure, though, that this house-sharing was much harder for Sean than it was for him, even though it had been Sean's idea in the first place. It was all new to Elijah; all equally new. The logistics, the moving, family life, living with someone, just everything. This part of it seemed no more overwhelming than any other, really. And Elijah had no memories of a life, before, in this house, to keep at bay, like Sean did. It had to be extremely hard for Sean, Elijah figured, but that didn't matter, because Sean believed it was the best arrangement for the girls. He and Sean did not discuss it much, because what was the point -- staying here part of the time was something that had to be done.

But, time was helping. It was helping Chris, too. Elijah realized he had received a bit more evidence of that, just tonight. He revived enough to tell Sean about it.

"I talked to Chris about Liz, and she didn't even ask for you."

"And?"

"I'm just saying that's kind of amazing, don't you think? Kind of another milestone?"

Sean looked at him, then, turned to him and pulled Elijah to his side, so that they were face to face.

"Yeah, baby. It is." Sean traced his cheekbone with his fingers, a feather-light touch that made Elijah, as always, close his eyes in bliss. No one touched him like Sean did; no one had ever _cared_ like Sean. No one.

"I'm so glad to be home," Elijah said.

"Me, too."

Later, Elijah woke because Sean had to get up. Lizzy was calling him. Elijah had not heard the child's voice from down the hall, but Sean had. Elijah lay there and wondered if he would ever be tuned in to the girls the way their parents obviously were. He heard Lizzy fussing and Sean soothing, and realized that, jet lagged as he was, there was no way he could go back to sleep now. He decided to get up and make coffee, but at the head of the stairs he paused. He checked to see what he was wearing and decided that just boxers were maybe not okay to invade Lizzy's room in. He turned back and found an old t-shirt on his bedroom floor, put it on, and realized by the smell that it was Sean's. Hugging the shirt against his own ribs, he quietly went into Lizzy's room. She was whimpering and stirring, half asleep. Sean was sitting on the edge of her bed.

Elijah said tentatively, "Baby, can I get you the ibuprofen or something?"

"No, I've got it right here already. But maybe a cold washrag, wrung out really well, okay?"

"You got it."

Elijah looked at himself in the hall bathroom's mirror as he let the tap run cold and then squeezed the washcloth until it was damp but not soppy. The counter was strewn with bubblegum flavored tubes of toothpaste and toothbrushes with mermaids and Barbies on the handles.

Very important role, this. One of his biggest, and hard. Kind of casting against type, too. He smiled at his own reflection. Definitely career-defining. _Stepfather._

End.


End file.
